


A Human Heart

by LadyMuzzMuzz



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dadgil, Family Fluff, Gen, I really ought to find a better sounding term, Minor descriptions of torture, Vadgil would be the correct term, but not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMuzzMuzz/pseuds/LadyMuzzMuzz
Summary: V was nothing... a mere scrap of discarded flesh, cast aside by Mundus, in the God Emperor's attempts to bend Vergil to his will.  But Humanity has always been underestimated by demon-kind... and by Vergil himself.
Relationships: V & Nero
Comments: 248
Kudos: 312





	1. A Worthless Scrap of Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DrPepper280](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrPepper280/gifts).



> So, look who came out with a new AU, inspired by both [Berheliyo's](https://twitter.com/i/events/1250844260238110720)
> 
> Infil!AU's setting, (seriously, this is the AU that made me fall into the AU blackhole), and DrPepper280's more specific prompts.
> 
> And more even surprising, this one will actually have an ending, as opposed to an open ended one shot!

Pain had a peculiar effect of distorting time. Had it been days? Weeks? Months?. Perhaps he had spent years in this hell.

_ Heh Hell _

Even with shards of crystalized demonic energy piercing his limbs, his bones broken and crushed, he still could see the humour in his situation. That was still a good sign that he hadn’t fully given into despair yet. Perhaps that was why Dante was the way he was, always quick with a joke or a quip. Something to keep the hopelessness of both their lives at bay. At least Dante could cling to the fact that he’d won, he’d defeated his older brother, he was probably living it up in the human world right now. It was better this way. Despite their disagreements on...practically everything, Vergil would rather be in this situation than his little brother. His brother was too tender, too vulnerable, too….human.

Another shard pierced his torso, knocking him back to his current situation. It was painful enough that he almost cried out, but like always, he bit down on his tongue, blood filling his mouth. Soon, the so-called ‘God-Emperor’ would show up to see if his minions had broken the proud Son of Sparda, and without fail, kill the demon who had been unsuccessful, before taking over himself.  _ Terribly predictabl _ e, Vergil thought, even as immaterial slimy tendrils would slip into his mind, looking into his memories. Even though this was his least favourite part, he still was able to keep parts of his mind closed off. Of Dante, of her…

Of course, this would lead to Mundus rehashing the same memories over and over and over again. The fire, his mother’s body spilled out on the floor, him trying his best to outrun demons as he stumbled, blinded by smoke and unshed tears. Of the countless hungry nights spent hidden in alleyways, of the fear and the powerlessness.

But he would always remain firm, and eventually, Mundus’s patience would wear out, and he would start inflicting agonizing pain, which was much easier to resist. Especially when Vergil realized that it meant that he’d won this time, that despite being the prisoner, his will was stronger than his captor’s. After a while, the God-Emperor would tire of the game, and send in yet another unfortunate lackey to attempt to break him, and the cycle would begin again. Eventually Vergil hoped Mundus would finally crack, and just finish him off. Escape was now a distant dream, so he just looked forward to eternal sleep, to see his mother again, and beg for forgiveness for not protecting her.

**_AH, YOU HAVEN’T BROKEN YET,_ ** the voice boomed in his head, as his tendrils burrowed into his mind, masking the sound of the minion’s screams as its pathetic life was squashed out. **_IT APPEARS THAT YET AGAIN, I MUST DO IT MYSELF._ **

_ Good luck with that,  _ Vergil thought, as he prepared for the mental assault. It was the same, just more intense, reminders of his countless failures, countless defeats, being used as a pawn by various people, from the teenagers using him as a child to steal things, for just a scrap of food, all the way to Arkham using him to foolishly gain power. His weakness as he dropped the shattered tsuba of Yamato on the lifeless dust, being bound and chained, not worthy to be a Son of Sparda. 

But still Vergil resisted. He knew what Mundus was trying to do by breaking him. He’d seen it before. The bastard wasn’t content in just killing him, he wanted to enslave him, to bend him to his will. And Vergil, despite his multitude of failures, was still too proud to stoop to being a puppet. He would rather be killed first. And now, he could feel Mundus’s restraint breaking, it wouldn’t be long.

But this time, things had changed. For once the self proclaimed ruler of the Underworld had something different in mind.

**_REMEBER HER?_ ** A slimy tendril dangled Yamato’s broken hilt in front of him, as a person would dangle a toy in front of a cat. He hadn’t expected that Mundus would take the sword. Was he taunting him by reminding of him failing her? Nothing he could say or do would be any worse that what Vergil told himself.

**_I’VE FOUND WHAT IS YOUR WEAKNESS,_ ** the jagged edge of Yamato dragged down his chest, still sharp enough to cut through the ragged remains of his vest, revealing pale skin, before halting near his sternum **_YOUR HEART._ ** Vergil stiffened. Was this the moment he had been hoping for? The moment where Mundus would crack and finally do away with his stubborn captive?

**_LET US BE RID OF IT, MY SERVANT_ ** The sword pulled back, and Vergil held his breath, the rancid taste of stale blood in his mouth was all he could taste. The squealing of protesting bones as they continued to heal was all he could hear. And a trio of crimson lights floating was all he could see. And all he could think as the blade slammed into his chest was how much he used to love the colour red..

******

He awoke, gasping like a fish out of water, his nails scrabbling on rusty red earth. No longer was he in his cell, bound and chained, but he was now in some sort of trash pit, surrounded by the corpses of decaying demons. The rotten stench made him bend over to wretch, but his stomach was empty so aside from a few strings of bile, nothing came out. But as he coughed, he noticed his arms that propped him up were much thinner than he remembered, and the skin seemed to look cracked, like a dried river bed. They trembled to hold up his weight, before collapsing, and he went sprawling to the filth below him. Was this some form of new torment Mundus had devised?

“Wait, you’re telling me  _ THIS  _ is the thing that was frustrating ole’ Mundie? You’re kidding, right!? Look at him! He looks like he’ll collapse if you breathe on him!  _ THIS  _ is who you plan for us to hitch a ride on?”

A scratchy sardonic voice called out from above him, and he stiffened as he heard a demonic growl in response.

“I’m just sayin,” the voice responded, to the growl, or talking to itself, he couldn’t be sure. “You’re asking me to take a mighty biiiig risk here. If this doesn’t work, and we get found out...well, you remembered what happened to  Abraxas, right? Wasn’t even enough of him left to dump here, after Mundie got done with him.”

He couldn’t resist and slowly looked up at the rim of the garbage pit. Above, perched on a large protruding bone, was a bird, large as a vulture, staring down at him with beady glowing yellow eyes. Beside him, looming even larger, was what looked like a panther, it’s eyes glowing a dull blood red.

“Ah, he’s still alive, that’s a good sign!” the bird’s sarcastic caw came from it’s beak...mandibles? It was hard to make out.

“Come to finish me off?” he croaked, his throat as dry and cracked as his skin. A final humiliation for the once proud Son of Sparda, his carcass food for the scavengers. The bird made something of a cackling noise as it coasted down, landing just out of his reach. Not that he could do much to it, his limbs were so weak.

“The joking type eh? Okay, that sounds like something I can work with. We don’t have much time for this, so I’ll make it short and sweet. You’re not in the best of shape, and actually, on a scale of zero to ten, with 10 being alive and healthy, and 0 being dead, you’re about a,” the bird tilted his head as he hopped around to examine him, “I’d say…. A point two-five. So, yeah, you’re pretty dead. But, with me and Kitty’s help, we can probably whip you into-” he hopped into about a foot away from his face, “if not tip top shape, at least something that can actually help you stand up on your own tw-”

The bird didn’t get much further, because quickly, his arm shot and gripped onto his beak, with speed that surprised even him.

“And why,” he pulled the bird closer to him, muffled squawking the only sound it made. “Would I ever need you?” And he pushed him back, causing the bird to go tumbling into the rotting ribcage of some demonic beast.

“Sheesh, let me finish, will yah?” he said as he clambered out. “Look, you gotta be a special kind of stupid, or delusional if you think you got any power left in you. I mean, look at yah, human skin ain’t supposed to crack like that, is it?” The cat rumbled in agreement. “You make a pact with us, we lend you our demonic power to keep you alive.”

He stared at the both of them. Demons never made deals, especially of this sort, without a massive payoff for their benefit. What could they possibly gain from him? As much as he hated to admit it, he had to agree that he was on the cusp of death.

“What is your angle?” he said, and the bird somehow gave a smile.

“Pretty simple! Ole Mundie has a preeeety lousy temper, as you probably could tell,” he hopped out of swiping range. “The thing is, it ain’t just reserved for you. One of us takes too long to answer a question from him, forgets to invite him to our party, and  **SMUSH.** There goes Griffon, taken away from us far too soon!” he sighed dramatically, and a painful growl came from the cat, and if she could roll their eyes, she would have. The bird ignored them both and continued “So, it’s only a matter of time before Kitty and I get caught in the cross hairs, and we need some sort of insurance policy that will pay out, and guess what! You’re our ticket out of here!”   
The bird looked at his confusion, “What we’re gonna do, is basically bond part of us to you, and with this… Hey Shadow, pass it over!” a metallic clink as the hilt of Yamato, bounced down the refuse. Had he been less fatigued, he would have throttled the both of them for their disrespect of the blade, useless as it was. “You should be able to find a thin part of the Veil and get you and us through, so that when Mundus finally loses his temper, we’ll have an out on the other side. Sure, we’ll be chained to you, but… we both figure you can’t be any worse than the big guy. So,” he said, nudging the hilt towards him with his beak, “we gotta deal?”

He stared incredulously at the two of them. Him, a Son of Sparda, making deals with demons, and such weak ones at that? No, he didn’t need them, didn’t need Yamato, didn’t need anyone. He had spent his life on his own, had been tempered by the fires of Hell, and while he hadn’t been unscathed, he’d endure. 

“No deal” he said, half expecting the bird and the cat to pounce on him for his denial. Instead he was met by flabbergasted spluttering as he forced his muscles to move up the least steep wall of the pit. As he struggled to climb out, he noticed that his torn gloves were gone, his coat, his vest…and looking lower down his body, he realized that his pants and boots were gone. He was naked as the day he was born. Confusion hit him. Had they stripped everything from what they thought was his corpse? A panicked thought ran through his head and he clutched at his neck, only to realize to his horror, that his mother’s precious gift to him was also gone. Grief hit him at its loss. An overwhelming urge to find it engulfed everything, even his will to survive.

Fueled by this instinct, he managed to make his way to the rim, with the bird squawking “Now listen…” but he ignored it. But as he began to pull himself out, the damned cat barred his way, its eyes glowing dangerously. Yamato might be useless in this broken state, but he would cut down the demon beast if he had to. 

But the showdown never happened, its ears perked up and swiveled, and it gave what seemed to be a whine. Vergil had no idea what that meant, but the bird definitely did.

“shitshitshit …. Shadow, give us some cover!”

The cat promptly did, transforming into a blob of what was an attempt to imitate a rock, leaving a small gap for him to peek out. Into his field of view, twenty metres away appeared a rather humanoid demon, covered in head to toe armour, facing away from them.

“What’s Nelo Angelo doing here unchained? Did Mundie break him already?” The bird hissed as he landed beside him. 

“Nelo?” he asked and the demon turned, as if he heard his voice. Around his neck was a familiar gold and ruby gem.  _ His amulet. _

A surge of anger flowed through him, and he began to get up, to take what was rightfully his, but the damnable bird bit down on his shoulder.

“Are you crazy? Nelo is freakishly strong! Even with our power, you couldn’t hope to go against him. It’s suicide!” The bird managed to get out. 

“Let. Me. Go.” he warned, “He has something of mine. Something precious that I will do anything to get back.”

“You don’t understand, do you? You have no clue who that guy is!”

“I know he is a thief, and that is all that matters.”

“Wait!” The bird squawked, and the demon’s head swiveled to their direction. He hoped the bastard would come towards them, so he would have the opportunity of ambush. But instead, the demon removed its helmet, as if to pinpoint the sound better.

His first thought was that Mundus had captured Dante. Because what he saw, was a pale face, and with red eyes and blue streaks, what was his own face. It wasn’t possible, the way back to the human world had been sealed when he’d followed, Mundus couldn’t have found a way to ensnare his brother.

But then, he realized that the demon was not wearing Dante’s silver chain, but his own gold one. And despite whatever Mundus had put that figure through, there was his distinctive white hair, in his own signature slicked back style.  _ It couldn’t be…. _

“Do you get it now?” the bird whispered, “Mundus took Yamato and cut out Vergil’s humanity, leaving this asshole, Nelo Angelo. Pure Demon, strong, but dumb as a sack of rocks, in my humble opinion. You… you’re the piece he cut out, his humanity and you have no chance of going up against him. You need our help to get you out of this situation…. And to be fair, we kinda need you. Capice?”

He looked at the cracked skin, his trembling withered muscles, his protruding ribcage, and he realized just out of his depth he was. As much as he didn’t want to admit it...he needed all the help he could get right now. And as he pondered the deal, Nelo seemed to jerk, as if on an invisible chain, and placing the helm back on, trudged on, away from their hiding place. 

“So, we gotta deal?” Griffon asked once he had made sure the demon was gone.

He took a deep breath as two pairs of eyes watched him intently.

“Very well, both of you may be of some use to me,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“Gee, I was hoping for ‘Oh thank you Oh Great and Benevolent Griffon! I am forever in your debt!’ but I guess I’ll take what I can get” the bird grumbled. “Alright, to make this pact, you gotta say our names and yours. 

“I know how pacts work,” he grumbled. His memories of his mother and her rituals, albeit temporary flashed through his mind, as well as the countless books he had read.

“I….V-” he paused. He wasn’t Vergil anymore, not really. He was just a pathetic scrap of flesh, an empty vessel with no power. There was no reason to sully the name his father and mother gave him with what he was now. But what to call himself… a mere shadow?

“Time’s kinda of the essence,” the bird, Griffon pushed. “Dunno if Nelo is coming back, but we need to hurry this up.”

He spoke again, his voice a bit less shaky, “I make a pact with..” he looked at the bird, “Griffon, and,” the cat had reformed into her feline shape “Shadow. Your power is mine, and my power is yours. When one of us perishes, so shall the others. So shall our souls be bound, until the end.”

Griffon crowed in victory. As for his new name, it made sense, he may not be complete, but he was still a part of Vergil

_ “So say I, the host.... V.” _

They traversed the wastes, seeking for somewhere that the veil was thin. Both Griffon and Shadow’s home counterparts ran off to assume their duties while their copies (or were they the originals? V couldn’t be bothered to tell) stayed with him. While he felt slightly rejuvenated, every step was still agony. The power that his new familiars gave him wasn’t quite enough. He needed more. He would always need more.

“You two are not sufficient for my needs. I need more power in order to escape.”

“Ungrateful son of a-” Griffon grumbled, “I’m already starting to regret this bargain you talked me into, kitty.”

Shadow roared in challenge, but the bird was undaunted “Look, I’m not the one who had the bright idea to shack up with this guy, I just agreed to be your translator” Another grumpy huff. “Oh no, you don’t get to pin this on me.”

“If you two are going to be this useless, then this pact was worth less than the paper it was written on” V interrupted. His bare skin, still naked, was covered in black swirling tattoos… that almost covered the faint, but still there cracks in his skin.

“But we didn’t write anything dow- Oh...okay I get it.”   
Another growl came from the panther.

“You sure about that? We’ve already taken a big risk with V. I’m not sure he’s up to the task…”

“Speak plainly.”

“Kitty thinks there miiiiight be another guy willing to help us out.” Griffon explained as he flapped in the demonic breeze. “The issue is...Nightmare ain’t really a thing you can negotiate with. He’s less a ‘demon’, and more of a ‘blob of demonic energy’, so you can’t reason with it, you gotta do the demon thing and subjugate it. And no offense,” he flew out of grabbing range, “I just don’t think you have it in you.”

Well, that was a challenge. V grimly smiled to himself. It would be a relief of him being the dominator.

“Shadow,” he said, “lead the way..”

It didn’t take long before they came to a pool of bubbling slime. Chains of unholy light, anchored to stone pillars submerged into the sludge. The stench, even for Hell, was horrific, and even Griffon started hacking and coughing.

“Okay, let’s get this done and over with…. Before I puke my guts out.” he flapped over to face V. ``You’re on your own, you either force it to join you, or you become it’s lunch. Good luck!” and he flew off to perch on a pillar, noticeably upwind of the pool. Shadow huffed what V thought was some encouragement, and padded over to join her companion, silently observing.

He stood there at the edge, unable to admit that he had no idea at what to do. Obviously talking was out of the question. But how to subjugate a viscous black entity?

Nightmare answered the question for him as a slimy tendril shot out, and grabbed his ankle. And with a very out of character yelp, V was dragged under, with just enough time to take a gulp air.

He instinctively struggled against the thick sludge before his wits took over. If he panicked, he’d never be able to claim the power he so desperately needed. But he couldn’t appear desperate, so taking a metaphorical deep breath, he stilled his body.

_ “Nightmare”  _ he thought, projecting his will to his barely sentient surroundings  _ “I am V, and need-no demand your power.”  _ he felt a swirling feeling, and an ominous sensation as Nightmare analyzed him. It was completely ridiculous. He, despite being merely shard, was still a Son of Sparda, and this was far below him.

_ “Nightmare, I command you to give your power” _ he mentally shouted into the void, and everything stilled. He could hear nothing but the rapid beating of his heart, felt nothing but the nearly drowning presence surrounding him, threatening to overwhelm him.

And then….a thrust up and he regained the oxygen he so desperately needed. Scrabbling onto solid ground, dignity be damned, he heaved as the black ooze clung to him, settling into a new set of tattoos, filling in the cracks in his skin, until it was smooth, as it was when he was whole. The pain was gone, and V reveled in the lack of it for the first time in what seemed to be forever, but there was still weakness, a tiredness that he would have to overcome.

“Hoooooly shiiiit” Griffon squawked, as he landed in front of V as he got up. “You actually did it! I mean” he corrected, “Not that I ever doubted you! Right Kitty?” 

Shadow huffed as she followed, allowing V to use her back to help prop himself up. She then sniffled the air, no longer as stench filled. And Nightmare? The entity, or at least part of it, settled into his body, bonding with his soul, making a solid bedrock of which to rebuild himself on. It was hardly ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Kitty says the veil is really thin here, now that she can actually smell,” Griffon informed him, “You think you can get us all out of here?”

V held up the near worthless hilt of Yamato in his hand, studying it. She’d served her purpose, he had failed her….and now after this, she was to be cast aside. He didn’t need anymore reminders of his failures.

Drawing in with whatever remained of his demonic energy, he drew his hand up, and with two quick motions, sliced through the air. After a brief second, as if the very atmosphere was hesitating, it parted, and a pitch black void lay before them.

Yamato dropped to the lifeless ground with a thud. He could not even wish her a final farewell. He didn’t even have the strength to imagine a ‘what if’ scenario in which he could reforge her. He had failed her, like he failed his mother, and he could not bear that burden anymore.

“Come, let us go” he ordered, and all three of them (four if you included Nightmare, but even now it had practically melded to V) walked through before the air sealed up, leaving not a trace that they had ever been in the underworld, aside from a broken hilt.

V had no idea where the portal would take them, he had not the power to control his destination like his whole persona could, but anything was better than Hell. Although, he did hope that his naked ass wouldn’t be plopped down midday in some city’s downtown.

So it was to his relief that it was nighttime… and better yet, during a thunderstorm. Sure, it would be hard to get his bearings, until daybreak, but by then, he could probably scavenge some clothes.

“Son of a-” Griffon howled over the wind and driving rain. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, V!” Where in the world are we?”

A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, and for a half second, he could see everything, as if it was noon...and in the distance, he could see a familiar statue….tall and imposing. 

V fell to his knees, letting the refreshing rain wash over him, cleansing him, baptising him.  _ Of all the places… it had to be here….perhaps I have not been forsaken quite yet… _

And then, to the surprise of his familiars, V laughed as he raised up his arms in triumph. 

“Uh….V...you okay there buddy?”

“Never better.”

“Okay, wanna tell us what’s made you so cheerful?”

He pointed towards the general direction of the statue, as it was lit up by lightning again. “Because, we’ve arrived in a place I know well…. _ Fortuna” _


	2. Revelations in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which V loses more than he he can handle, and gains more than he can imagine.

V tried to wring out as much water as he could out of the rain soaked cloak that he had swiped off an absentminded housewife’s clothesline. She’d no doubt think that the howling wind had ripped it off, and go about her day, inwardly kicking herself for her stupidity. It didn’t provide much warmth to V, but it at least gave him some of his shredded dignity back. Demons may not care about clothes, but humans were another matter altogether, especially on this puritanical island. Last thing he wanted was to escape Hell, only to be arrested by Fortunan authorities for indecent exposure.

He needed to plan his next move, he needed shelter, a place to rest and food...his stomach protested in a way that it hadn’t since a few weeks after the fire. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he needed somewhere safe. Just a place for him to let down his guard. Fortuna, despite its frequent demon attacks, would be safer than practically anywhere else, especially if there was a pursuit. The Order’s troops, while misguided at best, were good at what they did.

“So,” Griffon said, trying to look dignified and failing miserably in the pouring rain, “What’s your plan now? When those hoity toity higher demons like Malphas told me the human world was so great, they didn’t mention how...wet it would be. Sparda spent everything to defend th-” he was cut off by V yanking him by the neck.

“Do not think that our partnership allows you to disparage my father’s actions, nor for me to tolerate your insubordination.” V ordered through gritted teeth. In his full form, he would have been able to crush the bird’s windpipe, to silence him forever, but… he still needed him. At least for now. So he had to content himself with chucking the bird into a nearby puddle. It was cathartic, to say the least.

But as much as he’d hate to admit it, the next step of his plan was a bit...complicated. The island was very insular, and he’d stood out like a sore thumb last time. A scrawny tattooed man with a couple of demonic familiars at his side was bound to attract the attention of the Order. And when he last was here, he was a stranger, with no one he could rely on…. _ except her. _

_ Hannah…. _

He could picture her in her favourite red dress, her white hood barely containing her overflowing chestnut hair. When the rest of the island treated him with contempt, (ironic, when one considered he was a Son of the Saviour they all blindingly worshipped), she had merely smiled, and offered a small room in her home for him to study. All she had asked for, aside for help around the house, was information about life outside the island. She had been wanting to write a book, a guide for those who wished to leave the confines of her restrictive society. 

He’d at first begrudgingly accepted, as she eagerly asked questions about travel (she was particularly amazed that there was something like a subway that burrowed underground) and the fact that aside from some other isolated communities, the church didn’t have as much control over everyone’s daily life.

_ “Vergil,” she asked one day as he assisted her in cutting up potatoes for the roast. She always seemed pleasantly surprised that he wished to help in the kitchen, normally woman’s work, “The mainland seems so much more free and exciting than Fortuna, why would you ever want to be here?” _

_ He didn’t look up. “Like I said, I wish to unlock the secrets behind Sparda’s power. To see how he had the strength to protect the world” _

_ “I’m not an expert at anything theological aside from saying my daily prayers, but it seems pretty obvious. He cared about humanity, and that willingness to save what he cherished most gave him the strength.” she smiled, and something inside of him seemed to flutter at it. _

_ He thought he had a response, a retort to it...but nothing. After all, unlike all these people, he had first hand experience, albeit hazy with his father. And his father had truly loved his mother, him, and yes, even his annoying younger brother. But still, it hadn’t been enough. There had to be something else, something more. _

_ “Vergil, I think if you cut those anymore, we might as well as have mashed potatoes,” she giggled, and he looked down at the chunks of potatoes, now chopped to shreds. It wasn’t like him to be so lost in thought, only when he was truly at ease, which was always a rare occurrence for him. But with the ring he’d acquired a few months ago prior to this journey, he could afford to relax, especially around her…. _

Of all the people on this island, she was the one who’s heart was open enough to let a strange, unknown man in. He hadn’t quite seen what he’d looked like, but he’d caught glimpses of a distorted reflection of himself in a puddle underneath a street light, and he looked nothing like his former self. She might not even need any convincing, she had always opened her heart to the less fortunate in her community, even though nearly everyone saw her as an oddity. A woman at her age, unwed, pursuing a career as a writer? But she could afford to ignore the social norms, living comfortably off the inheritance as the only child of deceased parents. But there was only one way to find out, and leaning on Shadow for support, pointed in the general direction of her home. 

“This way.”

-

The house was dark as he approached, an oddity, as she usually left the porch light on, even while sleeping,  _ “To help the traveller on his way”  _ she had said. That was Hannah, always looking out for others.

“Doesn’t seem to be anyone at home” Griffon said, preening the rain out of his feathers. “I can’t sense any human’s aura here.”

“Makes sense,” V muttered, mostly to himself. “She had an enchanted amethyst ring on her person, one that would mask her presence to demons, making her undetectable.”

Griffon whistled as Shadow wandered around the exterior of the house. “I’ve heard of those type of trinkets, not very easy to come by, how the hell did she get one of those babies?”

V smiled to himself, “I gave it to her…”

_ “What?” She spluttered as he placed it on her finger. “Vergil….are you proposing to me? I thought you just said you were leaving Fortuna.” _

_ It was now his time to splutter. Part of him whispered to himself to give in, settle down with her on this peaceful secluded island. But another part, a more urgent part told him he’d dallied here far too long, he’d made Arkham impatient with his excuses. If perhaps he finally claimed his father’s power and full strength, perhaps then he could afford to… no, there was no point in dwelling on maybe’s. _

_ “N-no” he managed to get out, a bit inelegantly, attempting to withdraw his hands from hers a bit too quickly, “This is a gift...a way of thanks for your aid. The ring contains a rare enchantment, so that if demons approach, they will not be able to sense you, keeping you safe. Fortuna, even with your Order troops, has far to many demons for my comfort.” _

_ She gripped his hands tightly, foiling his attempt to break away. “Are you sure you want to leave? I thought that maybe…” _

_ “It’s for the best,” he tried to convince her, even as he stopped trying to pull away. Her hands were so warm, so delicate...were anything to happen to her….  _

_ “Well,” she said, her brilliant brown eyes seemed a touch shinier. “If you ever return… my door will be open, and my porch light shall remain on.”  _

_ He should have given her a kiss goodbye, but he didn’t think he’d have the strength to walk away after that…. _

“Earth to V,” Griffon’s irritating voice broke him out of his trance. “Kitty says you miiiight want to check this out.” and with that, the bird flew around the house, towards the back. V stumbled to follow, attempting to make his way past the multiple pots of plants she kept on the side of the house. He wasn’t sure what Shadow had found, but a sickening feeling gathered in his stomach.

“Oh...this ain’t good” he heard Griffon remark to the feline as he rounded the corner. There, where the back door should be was a hole. A large hole, and if the claw marks of the remains of the door indicated anything, it wasn’t due to the weather. V began to feel sick.

“No demons here anymore, that I can tell…” V ignored him as he rushed in, demons or no, he needed to find her. 

“Hannah!” he called out, but no response. The damage was localized mostly to her bedroom, indicating that unlike most attacks, which usually covered a large range, this had been targeted attack. She had been a target.  _ Because of him?  _ His mind replayed the memories of his childhood. There was no fire this time, but still, it was too familiar. But, he hoped...perhaps she’d managed to escape. The ring should have bought her some time. Still, the demons wouldn’t have even found her house without the ring. Had she taken it off, or worse, thrown it away after he left? 

He felt the presence of Shadow beside him, slunk low to the ground, sniffing the floor.

“Uh,” Griffon followed, his voice almost...afraid? “Shadow here says there’s a lot of blood….like a lot. And most of it isn’t….demon” Even V could smell the stench of stale copper that still wafted in the damp room, and with every flash of lightning, he could make out rusty splashes everywhere.

He couldn’t handle it, she couldn’t be…. He had given that ring to protect her, she was smart enough to understand its power and would have never taken it off! But it didn’t matter what she had done, the end result was the only thing that he clung to. Because he didn’t protect her. If he had just stayed with her, instead of leaving her with some mere trinket, she would still be alive. Or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, after all. He never would have had enough power to protect her. Not his mother, nor his brother, not even himself. And now her death was placed on his fragile shoulders.

His knees gave out, and an alien agonized sound ripped out of his throat, something Mundus had never been able to accomplish.

“V…” the bird said softly, almost with sympathy, but he ignored him. Shadow nuzzled against his shoulder. Perhaps, being bound with his soul, they could feel his pain, but it didn’t matter…

Warm rain dripped down his cheeks, and he was confused. Had there been a leak in the roof? He looked up, but saw nothing. His eyes burned as the water dripped into the floor, mixing in with the dried blood, and splashing against the baby rattle.

_ Wait….a baby rattle? _

His trembling hand reached out and snapped it off the ground, and he just stared at it. It looked fairly new, so what the hell was something like that doing in her house? As most families in Fortuna had women as housewives, there was almost no chance she would have been caring for someone else’s child. Beside where the rattle was, a teddy, and then a knitted blanket. His eyes followed the trail of toys to…..an overturned crib, tucked into a corner, almost unseen.

Fearfully, he crawled over, his dread intensifying to a crescendo. The white patterned sheets, with images of dinosaurs, were clean, no blood on them, and Shadow huffed as she sniffed at it.

“Kitty says she can only smell one person’s blood, but quite a few demons…” Griffon translated as he hopped onto one side of the bed. “Hey V….come check this out…” he followed the birds beady eye sight toward a picture frame that had fallen off the nightstand. The glass had shattered, but the photo was otherwise unharmed.

There, in an unfamiliar bed, lay Hannah. A bit exhausted, a bit worn out, but her beautiful genuine smile was still there. His ring was still on her finger. In her arms, wrapped in a black blanket, was an infant, no, a newborn. Their face was still red and wrinkled, they couldn’t have been more than a day old. But, peeking out of their knitted head cap, was a downy tuft of what looked to be blonde hair. No, not blonde, as another flash of lightning illuminated the room. Bone White. V flipped the picture over, to see if there was any other information.

There, in her familiar delicate handwriting he found it.

_ Nero Adrien Scriba _

_ Born November 25 _ _ th _

_ 4:15 A.M. _

_ Weight: Six Pounds, Eight Ounces _

And after a space, written later in different ink, but still her beautiful handwriting…

_ He has his father’s lovely hair. _

“Hooooollly shiiiiit” Griffon’s voice came from above his shoulder. “That’s… that’s yours, right? You actually found some chick willing to have a kid with you? With that attitude?” V was too stunned at the revelation to throttle the bird. Vergil, or rather he, had a son. He’d abandoned her… left her to the mercy of the harpies of Fortuna, pregnant and unwed. And even after that, according to the photo, she seemed so happy to have the child.

And then it clicked, with the finality of the safety of one of his brother’s pistols. The demons hadn’t come for her at all… they’d come for the child, a Son of Sparda, who’s blood had sung out to them like a beacon. But, looking at all of the damage, it seemed she’d been their only victim. Why?

And then the mental pistol fired, as the connections locked into place.  _ The ring! _ She must have, in an attempt to keep Nero safe, she must have placed the ring on him, to hide him. Did she know it would cost her her life? Would it have even mattered? His own mother had given her life to save his brother’s, why would she be any different when it came to her own flesh and blood?

And yet, there was no trace of the child, for good or for ill. Had the demons taken him? If V hadn’t been so powerless, he could have possibly traced the child’s path. But perhaps he needn’t do it himself, not with one who could track.    
“Shadow,” he said, his eyes never leaving the picture, as his fingers stroked the photo, as if to continue to remind him that, yes, this revelation was real. “Are you certain only one person was injured here?” He couldn’t bear to say her name, already his brain conjuring scenarios of her last terrifying moments. He didn’t need Griffon to translate the cat’s confirmation as she huffed. There had been a lot of dead demons here as well, they’d said, and while Hannah ( _ screaming, begging for him to save her) _ was stubborn, she had not the training to take down demons. The Order must have arrived...too late to save her, but perhaps…

“Woah woah… V! Where do you think you’re going?” The bird took flight as he stood up and began to make his way to the entrance.

“To find the child.” He stated, as if it was perfectly obvious “if he still lives, no doubt he is still in danger. Shadow,” he turned to face the cat “You will track him.” He was met by an exasperated growl.

“She’s right, I hate to admit it, but you ain’t in the best of shape right now. You humans need your rest, and you can’t be walkin’ around in a soggy sheet. You can’t look for your kid while you’re half dead.”

“I need-”

“Yeah, spare me…I’m bonded with you, I can tell when you’re not doing well. You get some food in you, and some decent sleep, and then we can find this kid of yours.” Griffon landed on the top of a full length mirror, and as V watched him, another flash of lightning illuminated the room, giving him a true reflection of his features. No longer was the proud visage of a Son of Sparda, with his white hair slicked back, imperious blue eyes. No, now there was just a shell, a gaunt face, pale sickly green eyes, and limp black hair. He looked pathetic. So pathetic and weak, that he couldn’t even resist Shadow nudging him to the bed. When was the last time he had laid his head down peacefully? His memories could only recall the last night he had spent alseep was with Hannah ( _ praying that whatever happened, they wouldn’t see Nero, please take her, not him) _

And as he sunk into the comforter, the scent of her favourite soap still emanating from the sheets, his eyes closed, and before he knew it, he had drifted into a dreamless sleep, the thunder transitioning into the sound of a comforting purr.

*****

“Well… the ice lake of Cocytus seems a bit more homey than this place.” Griffon quipped as he landed on the top of the several metre high iron wrought fence. “Kitty, you sure this is the place? Maybe your shape shifting has scrambled your senses…'' The now domesticated cat sized Shadow hissed at him, although now in her new small size, it was hardly intimidating.

V stood there, reading the arc of words, in ominous gothic style over the gate:

_ Saviour’s Respite for Orphaned and Abandoned Children _

Behind it, was a dour looking stone building, its aged masonry indicated that it had been here since probably since his father ruled this island. Between the fence and ash grey stones what was supposed to be a grass covered playground was bare earth, pounded down by countless running feet, with only scare patches of stubborn crabgrass sprouting in defiance of the children that chased each other. There were a dozen and a half of them, ranging from young teenagers, to toddlers, all wearing well worn faded clothes. A distinct lack of toys was noticeable, and the playground was, even to V’s untrained eye, to be not well maintained at all. Still, the children made the best of their situation, playing, chasing, and laughing while the hooded matrons looked on.

Well, one child was not having a good time, if his wails were any indication. A bundle of black cloth was being held by one woman, as she rocked the infant, walking back and forth in agitation. He couldn’t quite make out the child, but V gripped the bars, trying to get a good look,  _ without  _ making it look like he was looking.

“Mother Juliana!” the woman cried out, clearly at her wits end. “I’ve tried singing to him, rocking him, playing with him, and he won’t stop crying! His diaper is clean, and he already has his bottle, but nothing will stop him from screaming.” She almost thrust the bundle towards the older woman. She who had decades more experience took the child into her arms. “Patience, Sister….even I cannot calm all children. Sometimes babies cry despite everything we can do for them. All we can do is assure that they are cared for.”

The woman tiredly sighed “It’s been weeks of this, Nero’s been crying since he arrived. I don’t...I don’t know how much more I can handle.”

_ Nero… _ the name caused him to jerk, and the wails of the child struck something within him. Was his son sick? Was it due to his mother’s death? Were they hurting him? Part of him wanted to rip down the fence with his bare hands, snatch him and take him far, far, away from this place. But of course, he couldn’t, not in his weakened state. His hand gripped the silver handle of his cane, which was originally owned by Hannah’s father. It made walking a lot easier, and him less reliant on being supported by Shadow.

Griffon seemed to sense his rising anger, and hissed “Don’t do anything you’d regret! You want to get the kid to safety, right? You can’t do that while everyone thinks you’re kidnapping the tyke!”

“They. Have. My. Son.” V responded with venom. “And if you think I will let him stay in their clutches, you’re sorely mistaken”

“I dunno how they do it up here, but down in the Underworld, you can’t just bash yourself through your problems” Griffon cocked his head “well, technically you can, if you’re a Behemoth or something, but their problems consist of ‘finding something to eat’ and ‘barreling through anyone unfortunate to get between them and their food.’ Anyways, the point I’m trying to get across is that you gotta approach the problem with some sort of patience, and follow the rules. Only when you get to the top can you just do what you want. And I’m pretty sure you’re nowhere near there, even in this place that worships your dad.’

V sighed as his grip on the aged metal, black paint flecks embedded in his palm. As much as he hated to admit it, Griffon was right. He couldn’t take his son by force, couldn’t even prove that he was Nero’s father…but...maybe. 

He looked up back at the wrought iron text. Perhaps there was a way to peacefully get his son out of this horrendous place.

***** 

V wasn’t nervous as he sat on the oak bench. No, his fingers tapping on the handle of his cane were just a symptom of his impatience. Nor was the tapping of his feet on the worn hardwood, it was just something to keep him focused. He’d planned for everything. Fortuna had many still hidden secrets left by his father, even from the persistent Order. A cache of valuables was just the tip of the iceberg that Vergil had uncovered on his previous visit. He hadn’t needed it then, but it became very useful for V right now. It had gotten him a new outfit, a new home, and also a new identity. He now was a respected antique book trader, from the Mainland, now seeking a new start for his business, in Fortuna’s sunny balmy shores, as a way to combat his health issues. And since Fortuna was such an insular community, what better way to integrate with society than by being charitable and adopting one of those poor, unwanted, and wretched children that resided here? He put aside his pride, and swallowed his disgust at the whole charade as he played the role perfectly. He’d even sent Griffon and Shadow to do whatever they wished, because he knew that the merest hint of him having any demonic ties would at best, disqualified, at worst, hunted down. 

Now, weeks after he’d applied for the adoption, he sat, waiting for them to bring Nero to him. Would the child accept him? Would he be a good father? Not even a year ago, he couldn’t even fathom being a father. He barely could tolerate his brother. And yet, at the merest hint that he had a son, every fibre in his being had been focused on becoming a father Nero deserved, that Hannah would have wanted him to be. He would not abandon his son, not like he had been.

A distant wail grew louder from behind the thick antique door. His tapping ceased, and he unwillingly tensed up. He had read countless books about child raising, and knew that babies, even a few months old, could sense adults' moods. He needed to remain calm. 

The door opened, and the woman he first saw with Nero all those weeks ago looked flustered as she brought him into the room, his cries echoing off the wood panelling.

“You’re definitely going to have your hands full with that one,” she joked as she began to hold the still sobbing baby out to him, “he’s got quite a set of lungs on him.”

It took all his will power to resist glaring at her. He needed to be professional at this critical moment. His arms reached out, and gently, oh so gently, placed his arms around the bundle. This would be the first time he got a good look at his own son, as they kept the children segregated from potential adopters until the last possible moment.

It felt so natural, in his thin arms to carry this bundle, and he looked into his son’s eyes for the first time. They were brilliant blue, and along with his hair ,it was a legacy of his grandfather’s bloodline, but his mouth and nose, those were all Hannah’s. His face was red from constant crying, but the moment V tentatively touched his cheek with a slender finger, his weeping stopped, and he stared up at him intently.

“Hello Nero” V said, transfixed on how perfect he was. A tiny hand reached out and gripped his finger, stronger than any chain that could bind him, “I am sorry I took so long, but I am here…. I am taking you home.” The child took a stuttering breath, and for a brief moment V thought he had done something wrong, and that Nero would start up crying again.

He needn’t have worried, because his son gurgled a bit and then broke into a precious toothless grin. Unshed tears blurred his vision as he pulled the child closer to him. He vaguely could hear the lady gasp “You...you got him to stop crying,” but anything else she may have said was unimportant. What was important was the two of them, father and son, and he gave Nero a gentle kiss on the forehead.   
“I am here” he repeated softly, “and I will never leave you again….”

******

Griffon circled the orphanage like a vulture, awaiting for V to come out. The past few weeks had been freaking interesting to say the least. Whatever V had lost by being cut out of Vergil, determination hadn’t been one of those things left behind. The moment he’d found out where these guys kept the kid, he’d put all his energy into getting him back. Griffon had even been able to crack a few jokes at his own expense, and hadn’t even been choked out. Yup, he’d definetly made the right call when HE came up with the idea of joining with the guy. 

Idly, he wondered if the other part of himself in Hell was doing alright. Sure, his other half was probably more powerful, but up here, he didn’t have to worry about being squished like a cockroach because he didn’t kiss Mundus’s ass quick enough.

The new upcoming addition was gonna be interesting though. Shadow got to stick closer to V, just because she had that cool shapeshifting ability, (which he was totally NOT jealous of) so she could pretend to be one of those flea infested cats that he saw down at the docks, when V had to pretend that he was a perfectly normal young man. Griffon on the other hand, had been exiled to flying around the city, watching the townsfolk. He scoped out V’s new neighbors, on his left, a retired widower who reeeaaally had a thing for putting boats in bottles. On his right, a young family, slightly older than V, with a seven and a one year old kid. The Elesion’s they’d been called, and even though the father was at a high rank in the Order, they seemed nice enough. All and all, it seemed like things were settling down in domestic harmony.

But…. there was an issue. V never voiced it, but Griffon could tell, even if he hadn’t been bonded to the guy, that something bothered the man. He hadn’t been able to locate that ring. Of course, it was an afterthought, especially in the bustle and preparation but something like that shouldn’t just get forgotten. 

Thankfully, today Griffon had found a lead. One of the ladies that watched the kids, the one that seemed to get stuck with V’s crying kid (he really hoped the kid wasn’t going to be that loud ALL the time), her aura seemed off...actually, it kinda felt like she didn’t have an aura at all. And she didn’t seem to be a witch or something, so it wasn’t supernatural.

And that’s when Kitty, who had been skulking around the building, had noticed she had a ring she kept fiddling with, an amethyst ring that definitely didn’t fit her. It didn’t take long for him to connect two and two together, and to realize where that ring had gone. Griffon was 100% demon, but even he had standards. Stealing from a helpless infant? How weak did you have to be for that?

And so, while V was distracted getting his son that day, Griffon and Shadow put their plan into motion. He’d made it perfectly clear that they were not to interact with any humans on the island in their demon forms, but Griffon figured he’d make an exception for this. But to be on the safe side, they’d waited until they were certain V had the kid.

Griffon sat on the ledge at the open window, enjoying the smell of fresh laundry wafting out. Right on queue, that little thief of a girl came in, much more cheerful, as she began to fold laundry. 

“Ah, finally…” she spoke to herself, “some peace and quiet for once.” And then she began to hum one of those tunes they always sang at the big cathedral at the centre of town. She fiddled with the ring, and yup, Griffon was definitely sure that was the ring. Okay, Kitty was here, Operation: Jewelheist was a go.

“Nice singing,” he said as he hopped inside.

“Thank you, I always wanted to join the Chant Singers, but I wasn’-” she suddenly realized the incongruity of a male voice in the female only area, and twirled around to come face to face with him.   
“You weren't free of sin like your little Church demands their singers to be? Cuz I think stealing is one of those sins.”

She made a sound of a dying fish, as he flew up, hovering a foot away from her, his eyes boring into hers. “So, hand over that little thing around your finger, and I’ll forget this little….indiscretion.”

Her reaction was to make a pathetic mewling sound, before making a run for it, out the door. And that’s when Shadow made her appearance, at full size, snarling, red eyes blazing with unholy fire. 

“I-I” she said as she backed up.

“I think you humans use the term ‘easy as taking candy from a baby’, right? Kinda pathetic, if you ask me. What Sparda ever saw in you guys I’ll never know.” His voice darkened, “Now Hand. It. Over.”

She pleaded with him “I-I didn’t think he had any use for it…. He was just a b-baby, he’d just choke on it.”

Griffon ignored her, “You ever ate a human eyeball before? They’re really tasty. Haven’t had one in forever, and I’m feeling kinda peckish right now…”

That seemed to do the trick and her trembling fingers undid the ring, and she tossed it in his direction. He swooped to catch it in his beak, and Kitty moved out of the way, leaving the doorway clear, which the terrified waste of flesh took full advantage of.

“Nice work,” he said, his voice slightly garbled by his prize, “Now let’s get back and welcome the kid to his weird new family”

-

They arrived at the building, and found V sitting in a rocking chair, holding the kid, as if it was the only thing in the world. Which, in his case, kinda was true.

Griffon went to speak, but was silenced by a sharp glare, but at least now, it didn’t have the threat of strangling behind it.

“He is sleeping, I do not want you to disturb him”

Griffon flew up to perch on the back of the chair, to observe. Huh, the kid was kinda….cute. Shadow seemed to agree as she cautiously sniffed, before gently rubbing the side of her face on his blanket.

“Me and kitty got a ‘Welcome Home’ gift for the kid, hold out your hand” Griffon whispered, and as V cocked his head in confusion, he took his talon and dropped the ring into his palm. V stared at it for a few silent moments, his thumb gently caressing the metal, before holding it tightly to his chest.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them, a small, but genuine smile on his face. “Thank you…” he murmured, his gratefulness wasn’t spoken, but the two demons could feel it nevertheless.

And so, the weird little family huddled together in warm comfortable silence.

  
_ Yup,  _ Griffon thought,  _ I’m so glad I came up with the idea of joining V. _


	3. Of Bloodstains and Bloodlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words hurt, sometimes even more than fists.

V pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the impending migraine that this woman was accelerating. Her voice, shrill and unending, was just yet another thing he didn’t want to deal with that. He’d already spent the morning in tense arguments with a potential seller who could not seem to grasp that ‘No, the ‘ _ Sermons of the Savior’  _ you purport as authentic is at best, a forgery’ (He may not have many memories of his father, but he could never see him ever writing such tripe.) And now this Matron, her grey hood covering her hair, would not shut up. 

Once he’d settled down with his son and business, he’d made discreet inquiries into the whereabouts of his brother, (only to make sure he was not up to no good, of course), and found that he still ran his demon hunting business….into the ground. He’d thought that his brother was being an irresponsible oaf, but after eight years of running his little shop, and dealing with these types of clients, he now understood why his brother couldn’t even pay his electrical bills sometimes. Of course, Vergil couldn’t afford to blow off customers, he needed bills to be paid, even if he still had a backup stash.

“So, let me see if I have this correctly,” he said when she had finally shut up, leaning back with a book, “you’re accusing my eight year old son, of suddenly, and with no prior warning, of attacking a boy twice his age?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds like you’re putting doubt on my charge’s story,” she countered back “I have ample evidence of an attack. “Dominic came to me with a black eye, a split lip, and possibly a broken nose. Ample evidence of an uncontrollable temper.”

V frowned, Nero could be a bit hot-headed, that was true, and often didn’t quite know his strength, but still, he’d never exploded like that.

“And not a mark on your boy! Obviously an unprovoked attack.” She smiled, as if she had proven some sort of case. V was doubtful. The Sparda bloodline ran strong in Nero, and he shrugged off a lot of cuts and scrapes, but they hurt just the same, even if they didn’t leave any lasting scars. He knew from first hand experience. Obviously, he wasn’t getting the full picture from her, he would have to question Nero himself. If it hadn’t been for that aggravating customer with the fake, his son wouldn’t have been able to sneak in with Kyrie, and he’d be able to question them off on why they were trying so hard not to be noticed. Now Kyrie was long gone, and Nero was upstairs doing who-knows-what, most likely being encouraged by Griffon. The demonic familiar was a bad influence, bute even though he would never say it the bird and Shadow were the only figures he could trust to keep his son safe.  _ Ironic, _ he mused,  _ to place my one gift in the claws of demons... _

“Are you even paying attention, Mr. Giller?”

“It’s Giler,” 

“Pardon?”

“GIL-er,” he corrected. Sometimes he regretted picking that name, people had a habit of seeing an extra L where there was just a single one. 

“Mr. Giler,” she said, placing an exaggerated sarcastic emphasis on the first syllable, “Your son’s behaviour is not fitting for a young boy, and if you do not rein his violent tendencies, your son may turn out to be a criminally minded young man. If perhaps,” she looked at his collection of secular books, “ he was brought up in the way of Sparda’s teachings, instead of going to that godless private school, perhaps he would learn to act like a proper young boy.”

_ SNAP _

He closed the book with enough force to call the woman to jump. That was quite enough. He may not win ‘Parent of the Year award’, he would handedly admit, but this was a line he wouldn’t allow to be crossed.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said, his voice turning to ice, “I will discuss this situation with my son, but if you ever imply again that my son is abnormal in any way, I will personally make sure that no child will be placed under your care ever again, am I understood?” She shrank back in fear. It was more difficult in his frail state, but every so often, he savoured the brief looks of terror he could inflict on people.

And just like that, he switched over to his charming facade, as he stood up and guided her to the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a meeting with a very important  _ client. _ ”

Shadow, who had been lounging on a cushioned chair beside the door, in domestic cat size, hissed as the woman was almost pushed out of the store, her snarls almost overpowering the door chimes. 

V sighed, turning the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’, and locked the door. He could hear Nero bickering with Griffon about something upstairs, and surprisingly, the sloshing of water.  _ Whatever had happened,  _ he thought as he slowly walked up the stairs, Shadow following behind him,  _ this will not be pleasant. _

\----

“Hold it still Griffon!” Nero ordered as the corvian squawked, hovering over the bathtub water, tinted pink now. 

In his claws hung a heavy waterlogged white dress shirt, threatening to drag the bird down. Well, it was supposed to be white. But now there was a blurry red splotch in the centre, and speckles of the same colour, if a bit more blurry on the edges from all his scrubbing, a vivid reminder of how much he’d lost control. His dad had always tried to teach him that getting into fights as a child was not worth it, but Dom had said those horrific things, and Nero...well… he couldn’t help it. What he said about Nero himself was bad enough, but about his mom….

“Look, kid, I wasn’t built to be a clothes hanger, let alone a drying rack. This stuff is freakin’ heavy!” Griffon grumbled, inching ever so dangerously to the water’s edge.

“You’re able to carry me and even dad, I’ve seen you!” Nero shot back. He had once asked his father who (or what) Shadow and Griffon were, and his dad had explained they were physical personifications of his dreams, that Nero’s grandmother had summoned for him due to his health issues as a child. Fortuna didn’t like demons, so V had explained that Griffon and Shadow’s identities had to remain a secret. Which was weird, because demons were supposed to be monstrous beings, out to hurt humanity but the two of them were nothing like that. Sure, Shadow wasn’t fond of strangers, and Griffon had a mouth (or was it a beak?) on him, but they were kind, and even...cared for both of them. 

“Dammit!” the bird yelled, and the heavy, waterlogged shirt slipped out of his grasp, causing it to plummet back into the tub, causing the pink water to splash everywhere in the bathroom.  _ Great… _ Nero thought,  _ now I gotta clean up even more. _

He sighed, grabbing more of the laundry powder and the brush...at the rate he was scrubbing, he’d wear a hole into the shirt before the blood would come out. 

“You sure you don’t know a better way to clean this?” He asked Griffon, as the bird landed on the porcelain edge.

“Do I look like I wear clothes, or know how it works for you guys?” he responded, his yellow beady eyes glaring at him in indignation, “why don’t you just ask your dad?”

Nero shook his head, perhaps he should have asked Kyrie before she left. In Fortuna, girls were taught from a young age on domestic tasks, so she’d probably know. His dad had been teaching him how to do the same things as well, which made him a bit of an oddity among his classmates (he couldn’t help but chuckle when Pablo’s pant button off, and the kid didn’t know how to sew it back), but cleaning out blood stains? He hadn’t gotten to that lesson yet.   
“No, he can’t find out! If he knows that I-”

“What can I not find out?”

Both boy and bird squawked in surprise as his dad stood at the doorway, casually leaning on his cane.   
“I…” Nero spluttered out, his mind completely blank. How his dad was able to move so silently perplexed the boy.

His father’s eyes glanced down at the tub filled with tinted water, before settling on the shirt, now floating on the surface like a bedraggled jellyfish.

“Your blood, or his?” He asked nonchalantly, as if he was requesting Nero to pick out his breakfast.

“Uh…” there was no point lying. He’d heard his father talking to a shrill sounding woman downstairs while he had frantically tried to clean up. Odds were that it was one of the Orphanage Sister’s, vocalizing whatever lie Dominic had fed her. “Some of mine, but mostly his.”

His father nodded, but Nero couldn’t tell if it was positive, negative, or just neutral. His dad was hard to read, even after living with him all these years. Maybe his mom was more in tune with his dad’s emotions. She must have been a special woman if she was able to get his stern and serious father to fall for her. He never did it for any of the other ladies who batted their eyelashes at him while at his store. If Nero had a dollar every time he heard a lady say something along the lines of that ‘Lovely, quiet, widower that owned that cozy book shoppe’ he could buy a round ticket off the island. 

Just the thought of his mother brought back memories of the day’s previous events, and he clenched his fists in repressed anger. Dominic was lucky if all he got was a bloody nose and a bruised ego from being beaten up by a little kid.

“My office. Now.”

There was no escaping the command in his father's voice, even if Nero didn’t know what was in store for him.

Griffon began to launch himself to follow, but V stopped him. “Just myself and Nero,” he ordered..

“Heh, good luck kid,” Griffon cackled as he joined a full sized Shadow to doze in the sunny upstairs window, as Nero dejectedly followed his father down the hall.

**

His dad leaned a bit too hard on his cane as he sat down, something he did when he was in a particularly foul mood. Nero hoped it was due to that lady, but he had a sinking feeling it wasn’t all that.

“So…” he began, leaning the silver cane against the desk, “I would like to get your side of the story.”

Nero just stared at his feet. As good as it felt a few hours ago, he really didn’t want to talk to his dad about this. He kinda felt stupid for losing his temper so easily.

“I would like to believe there’s more to what Matron Facilli told me a few minutes ago, but if you refuse to tell me what transpired, I will be forced to accept her version of events, and discipline you accordingly.”

“Dominic started it!” Nero burst out, unable to let whatever lies the bully had told to be considered the truth, “Me and Kyrie-”

“Kyrie and I.” 

“Kyrie and I were picking flowers to make her a flower crown,” he accepted his father’s correction, “and he came up to us and told her that her crown looked stupid.” Nero’s face burned at the memory of her eyes watering up.

“That does not make using your fists acceptable, Ne-”

“I’m not done!” Nero interrupted, “Kyrie started sniffling, and I tried to not get angry, just like you said, and I told him to leave us alone!” He hoped that when he got older, he could get his father’s piercing glare that caused most people to shut up. But he was still too young. (and too cute, if what he had heard Mrs. Eleison say one day). 

“So, he turns to me, and,” he mimed the butthead’s posture as he placed his hands on his hips in an exaggerated fashion, “and he says ‘look at the pretty princess has a pet orphan to protect her!’” 

He glanced up at his father, expecting him looking at him in disapproval, but instead, his dad looked...pale? Nero kept going.   
“I told him I wasn’t an orphan, and he says ‘Oh I remember a white freak baby at the orphanage who somehow got himself adopted’ even though his mommy was a …” Nero stopped. He might be just eight years old, but he knew pretty much all the adult words there were to know. And the word Dominic had described her was almost too painful to repeat”

But his dad was relentless. “What did he call her, Nero?” he asked, but with a much more gentle tone than Nero had expected.

“He called her...called her…” he took a deep breath as unshed tears flooded his vision. He was a big kid now, going into the fourth grade. And fourth graders didn’t cry. 

_ “He called her a whore.” _

He let those words out in a barely audible whisper, as if he was worried that just by saying them, he was hurting her. He couldn’t remember his mom, since she’d died when he was just a baby, but his dad assured him that she loved him very much. “I just lost my temper, and the next thing I know, I was on top of him, punching him, while Kyrie was trying to get me off, screaming at me to stop hurting him. But….but what he said made me so angry. He might have lived at the orphanage his whole life, but he can’t say I was one too...” he blinked the tears away as he looked to his father for reassurance. “right … dad? You and mom loved each other…?”

His dad got up slowly, using his cane for support. His eyes were fixed, not on Nero, but of the portrait he always kept on his office desk, the only picture Nero knew that showed her and him as a baby. She looked so happy to have him, it was impossible that he was ever abandoned! But there was always the question that he didn’t have her hair colour, or his dad’s. Or either of their eye colours.  Some people couldn’t even tell that he and his father were related!  _ Was there a chance….? _

“Nero,” he felt his father’s hand gently rest on the top of his head, “he is wrong. You were loved the moment you were born. Your mother gave me a precious gift,” he sighed, and Nero knew he was trying to pick the words to say. He always had trouble expressing his emotions. His dad had told him a little bit of his life before he met his mom. Horrific stories of demon attacks, his parents gone, and living alone as a kid with no one to rely on. And then the woman he loved getting killed by yet more demons. It explained why he was so protective of Nero, of why he insisted he wear that ring on a necklace around his neck at all times. Keeping him safe from demons was his goal.

“But,” Nero got the bravery to ask, “why don’t we look alike? Why don’t I have brown or black hair?”

His dad looked at him sadly, “you recieved your unique features from my father; your grandfather,” he chuckled softly, “it must have skipped me and went straight to you. Perhaps…” he trailed off for a moment, “you’ve inherited his strength as well.”

Nero wanted to ask more. His dad didn’t talk much about his family, aside that they were all gone, and he seemed to get so sad when Nero asked, so he had stopped inquiring after while. Maybe when he was older….

“As for your misbehaviour,” his father spoke, metaphorically dragging him kicking and screaming back to the subject at hand. “You will be grounded for two days.”

“Dad!” he protested, upset that he was being punished for something that he didn’t feel like he should be. He had hoped his father would understand.

“Do not think I approve of what he said about her.” his father spoke firmly, “had I been in your shoes, I may have done worse.” The mental image of his skinny dad beating up Dominic, who probably weighed two times more than him made him suppress a giggle. “No, this is because you must learn to keep your temper in check. There are other ways…” and his smile seemed predatory, “to make your displeasure known”

Nero sighed. It could have turned out much worse, he had to admit. But still, what Dominic had said hurt. Even if his dad had washed away his doubts, there was always going to be that niggling worm in the back of his head.

“Now,” his dad said as he walked past him, going down the hallway towards the bathroom, “it appears it is time I taught you how to get bloodstains out of clothes….”


	4. To break bread....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V's never been the type to make friends. They're an unneeded distraction at best, and at worst....
> 
> They're a weakness. 
> 
> But for his neighbors, V is willing to make an exception, purely for his son, of course.

V tried to finish his plate, he really did. Mrs. Eleison’s cooking was second only to his mother’s, and both Nero and he always looked forward to partaking in her meals. But unlike his son, who was currently politely asking for thirds, he couldn’t do it. So, in order to not look like he was insulting his hostess, he mimed eating, and used his fork to push the food around. To think, his child self, shivering and starving on cold, wet, empty streets, would have given up everything aside from Yamato for just one of these meals, and now he couldn’t finish a single pasta dish. 

When he’d first settled down under his new persona with his son, Mrs. Eleison was the first to come by, with bread, right out of the oven of her bakery for him, and fresh baby biscuits for Nero. “Savior’s Mercy, Mr. Giler!” Cecilia had exclaimed when she saw the state of his pantry, “If we don’t get some food into you, your little Nero is going to outweigh you by the time he’s three!” And so began her quest to fatten him up, much to the amusement of Griffon, which was…. somewhat successful. With just his humanity, V wasn’t ravenously hungry like he used to be, and while he’d gained a few kilos, he still could only eat a couple light meals a day.

Eventually, she’d given up her crusade, but she’d still been almost infuriatingly helpful, sending over blankets, toys, and other odds and ends. He’d allowed it because it was for Nero, and he was secretly grateful that the woman had initiated the whole relationship, as he was never good at these sort of things. He was especially thankful as she worked as some sort of gatekeeper to the young ladies of the island, many of whom were interested in the ‘wealthy young widower’ that had arrived on their shores. There had only been one woman, one regret, and she would never be replaced.

So, for the first time since he was a child, he had made what he would classify as friends. Mr. and Mrs. Eleison, a respectable, upper middle class family that ran the local bakery, and had a penchant for bucking social norms (it was rumoured that their marriage had not been particularly well received by either of their families, and V had noticed that their extended family never seemed to visit).

And while Mr. Eleison was a Knight-Bannerette of the Order, which technically made him someone not to be trusted, V had slowly warmed up to the man. Yes, he worshipped his father, but never fanatically. Much like Hannah, he was interested in things off the island, and how he could use said information to improve both the infrastructure (both from an engineering and a social perspective) of the island, so V had indulged him. He was slowly becoming fond of this place, despite some of it’s backward ways, and he could actually see himself, and an adult Nero settling down here for many years to come.

And even if he hadn’t gotten along with the adults, the children were reason enough to remain on good terms with them.

Kyrie, a bubbly girl who had her mother's vibrant hair, was nearly a year older than Nero, and made a wonderful playmate for his nine year old. With his son going to the private secular school, he had few acquaintances his age nearby, and even fewer who didn’t mutter under their breath about his unusual hair colour. But to Kyrie, Nero was her best friend, the kid who once climbed a twenty foot tree to retrieve her kite. The boy who never made fun of her singing. The child who defended her from bullies. Her pleasant demeanour also rubbed off on Nero, much to V’s relief. Nero had been recently testing his boundaries, but Kyrie’s light touch had restrained him…. for now.

If the girl was soft and demure, her brother was quite the opposite, hard and unyielding. That was not a mark against him, in V’s eyes, on the contrary, the sixteen year old’s attitude impressed him. One of V’s regrets was that due to his physical limitations, he could not teach his son sword fighting, other than the theoreticals. Shadow and Griffon tried to help out but V needed his son to be good against blades as well. (A fear of what would happen if Dante ever found out about Nero haunted V’s dreams.) Credo had been almost as good of a replacement (almost), and his son always enjoyed their sparring sessions, together. Despite the seven year age gap, Credo had quickly learned not to go easy on the boy, as his son picked up swordcraft like a duck to water, and they spent multiple times a week just practicing against each other.

Unfortunately, that was about to be severely curtailed. Not truly a bad thing, but Credo would have much less time to devote to his sister’s friend. Because, merely a few hours ago, the teenager had officially been inducted into the Order as a Squire, the first step on his way to Knighthood. To achieve that distinction at such an early age was a good sign for the boy, a sign that he was destined for great things, and even V, who distrusted the Order due to rumours he’d heard, couldn’t help but share his parents’ pride.

“Dad,” Nero asked hopefully as he had polished off another plate of food, “Can I go spar with Credo?”

“After you help with the dishes.”

“Mr. V,” Cecilia gently protested, “you two are our guests, Nero doesn’t need to help out.”

“It’s the least we can do as thanks.” V smiled. Nero was not going to be brought up to mooch off the hard work of women, like most of the men of this island. And waving aside any other arguments, he aided his son in collecting the dishes, hiding his uneaten food as much as possible.

*****

  
“Ah, is there anything more satisfying than the pride of a father?” Enrico said as he swirled the wine, a red that matched the Order Sigil on his shoulder. He smiled proudly at Credo, who was currently deep in concentration as he and the nine year old circled each other, practice swords drawn.

“I am sure he will be a productive member of the Order,” V concurred. If Credo turned out to be as open minded as his father, his influence could make great changes in that antiquated institution. 

But while he admired the young man, V was more interested in his son, who, when the fight had finally commenced, darted with unexpected quickness, this way and that, trying to confuse the elder, before attempting a strike. Credo remained on his guard, not wasting any movement on unneeded reactions.    
Safely out of the way of harm, Kyrie was cheering for her brother, then Nero, then Credo, before being shushed by her mother, to allow the boys to concentrate.

Nero zoomed in, managing to get a hit on the Squire, but he was too slow to avoid the counter strike, and V restrained himself at the pained ‘oof’ he heard. Nero would recover quickly, and then the dance would begin again.

“So,” Mr. Elesion said as he drained his glass, “You must be so proud of him. He’s progressed much further than many boys his age, and many of the Squires.” V nodded in agreement. Sparda’s blood flowed strong in him, and with time and training, he could even surpass his father's wildest hopes and dreams. For V, Nero’s safety and protection was all that concerned him.   
“Speaking of which,” the balding man said, pouring another glassful for himself, and offering to top up V’s (he politely declined, his alcohol tolerance, even before his separation, had never been rather good). “I believe Nero has a good shot of being accepted into the accelerated Knighthood program. With my recommendation, he could start a year early, when he turns ten.”

V paused. As much as he liked this isolated island, he didn’t want Nero near the Order, or more accurately, he didn’t want the Order near his son. They may be worshippers of his father, but the way they spoke of him, they made him sound like a god. And if the truth came out that their ‘Saviour’ had living descendants? There were two options, they may starting to revere Sparda’s grandson, which he knew Nero would despise. (and then the uncomfortable explanations why his father, the son of Sparda was such a weak, feeble thing). Or worse, they would consider it a heresy, and that his son’s life would be in danger.

Enrico must have seen his hesitation, because he hurriedly continued, “I understand it’s a huge decision, for both you and your son. But the way I see it,” he sipped, looking at the boys locked in stalemate, “The Order, no, Fortuna needs new blood in it if we are able to survive in these fast changing times. We can’t just keep looking at our glory days in the past as a source of our strength. We need an outsider’s perspective, a new stem to graft to, if we are to thrive and blossom in these challenging times. As much as our Order claims that we’ve never been stronger than ever,” His face darkened as he looked at the giant inert hellgate that ominously loomed over the city, “I still fear that it will not be enough if something happens. You’ve heard the rumours, the increasing attacks...” he set down the empty glass. “Demons have been spotted in places we thought were too sacred for them to tread, Mitis Forest has had a rash of disappearances….”

V frowned. Enrico would not, should not be telling him this if it wasn’t so serious. Despite his push for change in the Order, he was still loyal to its ideals, and to admit that it didn’t have complete control, meant something was terribly wrong. But he still was an optimistic man, putting his faith that the next generation would lead Fortuna to another golden age.

“I…” V said delicately as he drank the last of the crimson concoction. “appreciate the offer, and no doubt Nero would be honoured, bu-”

He never finished his sentence. A sharp, burning pain emanated from his chest, and he gasped, his long fingers clenching his shirt. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to hear. He could make out his companion calling out his name in alarm. Was he having a heart attack? Had his weak humanity finally given out? Strangely, it didn’t feel like a heart attack, or at least like one should feel. Instead of the pain coming from within his chest, the epicenter seemed to originate on the skin, like he had been branded on his sternum. 

He stumbled, his vision failing before his legs gave out, and the last thing he heard was the clatter of wooden swords hitting the cobblestone, and his son’s voice crying out in alarm.

_ Not now, not while my son still needs me…. _

_ He wasn’t quite sure where he was. Or WHO he was for the matter. All he knew was that he was encased in metal, demonic armour that sealed him from head to toe. It didn’t matter anyways. Master had given him an order to kill the interloper, and he always obeyed. It had been a hard fought battle, the enemy full of witty quips that he didn’t quite understand, despite it seeming so familiar. But now it had finished, and he held his prey by the throat, as he lifted him up triumphantly, his victim’s feet kicking uselessly and shoving him against the worn stone wall. All he had to do was continue squeezing, and it would all be over. He would go back to his  _ _ Mundus  _ _ Master, to inform him that his  _ _ slave _ _ servant had done what had been  _ _ ordered _ _ asked. _

_ And yet, this interloper, this pathetic human carried on him something most  _ _ peculiar _ _ precious amulet around his neck. Silver surrounding a red gem, there was  _ _ none _ _ one like it.  _

_ His own amulet burned into his chest, the one given to him by his… Master..master... _ _ mAsTeR _ _ … Mother. _

_ Mother…. _

Dante looked so different from when he had last seen him, even though he still wore his trademark red coat, although it seemed a different style. And his youthful face and sharpened into something more mature, something slightly more serious since he had last seen him. But his eyes were the same, wide and blue in fear, same as the last time he saw him when he had...he had….

_ Fallen _

V looked on in horror. He’d always dreamed of besting his little brother, to prove once and for all that he was the strongest of the twins. But not like this… never like this. That burning pain in his chest sank deeper, until it was less a physical pain, but something deeper, latching onto his very soul.

V considered himself weak without his demonic half, and yet, he seemed to have unlimited strength when he lifted him higher, and threw him across the clearing. Dante went flying like one of his old toy soldiers, before landing onto the ground in a crumpled heap. And the pain in his chest lessened, but intensified in his head, to an unbearable degree. His metal clad hands (when had they been armoured? He would never wear armour far too unwieldy) clenched at his helmet. The armour was constricting, almost claustrophobic He needed to call his brother, to help it take it off, but he couldn’t form the words, it was like his lips were sealed shut from a decade of neglect. All that would come out were a garbled distorted moan of pain as he desperately tried to rip his metal cage off. But eventually, painful as it was, V began to make out the word.

_ D- _

_ Da- _

  
  


_ DAD! _

V’s eyes snapped open at the call of his name, and he jerked, his breath coming in panicked heaves. A pair of worried eyes, honey brown, hovered over him.

“Oh goodness, Mr. Giler, you gave us quite a scare there, are you alright?” Mrs. Elesion asked as she placed her cool wet yellow handkerchief on his forehead. He was lying on one of their green velvet couches in their living room. He could hear concerned whispers coming from the kitchen.

“Nero?” he gasped out. It didn’t hurt to speak, didn’t hurt to move his lips, in fact, nothing hurt.

“I’m here dad, I’m here.” his son’s voice sounded panicked, but reassuring. V turned to see him sitting on the floor, his eyes shiny from the light of the chandelier. “You okay?”

V blinked, had something happened? Last he remembered he’d been in the courtyard…

“You fainted,” Nero explained, “I saw you just fall to the ground, and Kyrie’s dad managed to catch you before you hit the dirt.”

“I’m...I’m fine.” V reached out to pat his son’s head. Half formed images of red and metal and stone were fading into nothingness. A dream his brain made up while he was out? Tentatively, he swung his legs over, and brought himself up to a sitting position. He felt...fine, if a bit...cool, like a man recovering from a bout of fever. His hand reached out in a familiar gesture, and his worried son quickly placed the silver cane into his hand.

Taking a deep breath, and over the protestations of the matron, he pulled himself up. A bit more shakily than usual, but with more strength than he had expected.    
“I think…” he said, as the rest of the family came into the room to check on him. V inwardly cursed. He sometimes managed to forget that he was just a tiny, weak speck, a remnant of a much stronger, more powerful being. Times like these reminded him of his fragility, and it disgusted him. How could he protect his son if he was hit by something as trivial as a fainting spell? “I think it is time for us to head home.”

The disappointment was evident on his son’s face. Nero always enjoyed spending time with both Kyrie and Credo, and there wouldn’t be many more opportunities to do that with the new Squire in the future. “My apologies for causing a scene, and putting a pallor on this happy occasion.” It was directed both at the family, and his son.

*****

They headed down the deserted streets, the last of the sun peaking out from behind the tiny gaps between buildings. The antiquated lights buzzed as they alighted for the night. Griffon drifted alongside the couple while Shadow, in her smaller form pattered between father and son. Nero trudged along, holding the copious amounts of leftovers (V had a sinking suspicion that Cecilia would be checking on him throughout the week to make sure he ate his portions). It was obvious that the boy hadn’t wanted to leave, and the guilt tore at his heart.

“Nero,” he said as they rounded the corner to the little bookshop, “You may go back to the Elesion’s to spend time with them, if you wish. I can make the rest of the way home by myself.”

Nero’s eyes widened, and V expected him to drop everything and run back. So it was to his great surprise at what he heard.

“No, what if you faint again? I need to make sure you don’t get hurt!” And to V’s astonishment and dismay, tears flowed down the boy’s cheeks. “When you passed out, I-” he sniffled, “I was scared. I thought you were gone, like mom. I didn't know how to help you, or what to do…”    
V pulled him into a gentle embrace. It wasn’t fair for Nero, he was just a child, V should be the one protecting him, worrying about him, not the other way around. Nero deserved a father who he could rely on, not some frail facsimile of the man. 

But V knew that he had no choice, he needed to be as strong as he could be for Nero. He was all the child had left, (sometimes he contemplated that his cursed state was actually a blessing in disguise, for if he had not been ripped from Vergil, he would never had met his son, and the thought of Nero spending his childhood in that place sickened him)

“Listen to me….” he said, “What just happened was just a spell of light-headedness, nothing more.” A lie, but what was yet another tiny lie added to the pile that he had to tell his son? “I know you worry about me, but there is no need. I will be fine.”

“But” Nero protested, pulling away.

“You deserve to enjoy your life without worrying about myself, Nero. I will be alright, go back and enjoy your time with your friends.”

“Yeah,” piped up Griffon, “Your dad’s got the two of us to keep an eye on him.” For once, V was grateful for the bird’s interruption. “Anything happens, Kitty here will be able to let yah know. He’ll be fine!” Nero paused, as Shadow slinked around his legs in agreement. Despite her true form being Jaguar size, V had theorized that spending all that time as a domestic housecat was permanently affecting her behaviour. 

Nero still hesitated, and V gave him a reassuring smile. “Go, and just be back by half past nine”. Fortuna’s streets were safe even after dark, and besides, the Elesions lived just a block away.

Nero bit his lip, before handing the bag of leftovers to his father, and walked back to his friend’s house, stopping to wave as he went around the corner. V let out a sigh of relief. Truthfully, his son deserved a worry free childhood. And no matter what, his father would do his damndest to provide it, even if it was built on lies.

“So, it wasn’t just me,” Griffon remarked, as soon as the bird knew the child was out of earshot. “I nearly fell out of the sky, like I’d been hit by lightning.”

V was confused, “What do you mean?” 

“Just before you guys started coming home, I got this weird pain, almost knocked me out. Thank god none of those pigeons down by the piazza witnessed it, I would have never been able to live it down”

Shadow meowed (Yes, domesticity was definitely wearing off on her).

“You too, Kitty?”

A more growly meow was issued in response.   
“Okay, that makes no sense, I first thought it was because we were all connected at the soul level, but you say you felt shitty a couple hours ago, and V here felt it before I did…..” He landed on a lamppost, snapping a moth out of air and crunching down on it. “I sure hope it’s not a bad sign...”

“It doesn’t matter, are we all agreed the pain has passed?”

“Yup, in fact,” Griffon said as he lifted off the wrought metal, and did a mini loop de loop, “Weird thing is, I actually feel better than ever, how about you?” Shadow purred in agreement. V didn’t quite agree, he felt tired. And the other’s didn’t mention having any dreams or visions. Or did he even imagine anything? Already the whole incident was almost gone from his memory. It didn’t matter, why worry about things that were in the past.

And so, all three of them made their way home, and after placing the containers in the fridge, V decided to go to bed, leaving Shadow to escort Nero when it was time for him to come home. He was frankly exhausted. Perhaps the fainting attack had weakened him more than he’d like to admit. Griffon flew off into the night, no doubt to spy on the citizens of the slumbering city, so V savoured the quiet of his home, an increasingly rare occurrence as Nero grew up. If it wasn’t his son arguing with Griffon about something, or him playing with Kyrie, it was one customer or another, pestering him to check yet again on the status of a delivery, or an inquiry of whether he found an obscure book that had been written prior to the printing press. It was only for Nero’s sake, did he restrain himself from throttling some of them. The boy was already considered an oddity due to his hair colour, and unique abilities. V dreaded the day he would have to have the conversation of his son’s bloodline. Would Nero accept it? Would he be upset? Would he be disgusted at the weakness of his father?

So deep in thought, he was completely blindsided when the burning pain hit him again. He was alone, without anyone to catch him as he collapsed to the bedroom floor. All he could do was cling to the bedsheet as he fell beside it.. The pain was in the same location, same intensity, but instead of a branding on the skin, it was a deep stabbing.

V clenched the blankets as he willed himself to not lose consciousness this time. And strangely, it worked. Despite the images of worn stone, a regal marble face concealing a monster, no flashes of silver and gold merging together flitting in and out of his mind, he remained awake and lucid.

And after a few moments of agony, it ceased, and vanished into the wind, and most odd… as V lay there catching his breath, he didn’t feel the cold, empty weakness of before…

He felt free.


	5. Flames of the Past, Hope for the Future.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He could not change the past, nor predict the future….but he COULD choose the present._

“V! Wake up!” Griffon pecked at the groggy man. Of course, this time, the guy was sleeping like the dead, instead of the restless sleep he was used to. V groaned, and sleepily swatted him, which the bird easily dodged. “Come on V, this ain’t no time to play sleeping beauty.”

“And what,” V glared at him, “is so important that you must bother me at,” he picked up the clock on the nightstand to squint at it, “three in the morning?”

“Cuz there’s a fire a block away,” Griffon said as he hovered, and watched as V grumbled as he practically slammed his face in the pillow, “And it’s the Elesion’s place.”

In hindsight, Griffon thought, he should have opened with that line, because the man’s demeanor changed dramatically. Like he was one of Nero’s old spring operated toys, he sat up, and stared.

“What?”

“I dunno, I was just coasting along, and I saw that the place was half on fi-wait for me!” For a guy who relied on his cane to walk, the man could move really quick when he wanted to. He already had swung his overcoat on and was already halfway down the stairs. Griffon quickly caught up.

“Shadow, stay with Nero, I will go investigate. You,” he turned to the bird. “Come with me,” And with that, the door was yanked open, and both man and avian made their way down the street.

Even with their home a block away, the glow of orange could be seen from the bookstore’s front door, flickering off the storefronts.

“I don’t get it,” Griffon muttered, “There ain’t nobody here, like there should be some hoity toity Order Knights, or a crowd of nosy busy buddies gawking at this.” V didn’t respond, his metal cane clattering in a steady, rapid rhythm on the stone roadway. Griffon didn’t like the look in his eyes, a mixture of determination, and...was that fear?

They rounded the corner, and came face to face with the inferno, already consuming half of the house. “Holy shit…” Griffon said as he perched on V’s shoulder, “It was just a little flame when I first saw it, how the hell did it get so bi-whoa, V where the hell are you going?” He lost his balance as the man suddenly moved forward, toward the inferno.

He was not given an answer, as V pulled his coat over his lower face, and plunged into the flames. Well, Griffon was no coward,  ~~ and he kinda needed V as a LIVING host to stay alive ~~ so he followed.

Thankfully the smoke, nor the heat affected him as much as it would a weak human, and he made his way into the relatively intact living room. Just a few months ago, Vergil had been laying on that couch like a Fortuna spinster who saw a couple kissing in the park, but now the couch was already warping from the intense heat. The chandelier had crashed down onto the floor, the shattered glass glittering like infernal fireflies on the patterned carpet.

V was crouched down, and Griffon freaked out, thinking he had been overcome by the fumes, until he saw what he was crouched next to. A cascade of clothing lay at feet, and peeking out, was a hand, one who had spent countless hours cooking and raising children.

“V?” Griffon landed next to the motionless man, and got a good look at the body. It was official, Mrs. Elesion, the lady who made the tastiest cookies, and doted on Nero like he was one of her own, lay there, her eyes open and blank, her mouth open in a silent scream. At first, Griffon thought she had succumbed to the smoke, but the smell of blood, and the growing dark pool underneath her indicated otherwise. Had she injured herself in panic? Griffon cocked his head. No, this wasn’t an accident, this was much more diabolical...literally.

“No…” V’s face was unreadable, his voice barely heard above the flames, he stared at her lifeless body, as if he was looking at a past event. “No...no...nononono, not again..not again”. Shit, if he kept babbling nonsense like this, he’d be taken by the steadily creeping flames, which were currently chewing up the curtains.

“V!” Griffon pecked at him “Snap out of it, buddy! We can’t help her!” The idiot still wouldn’t budge. The bird was now regretting even letting the man know about the fire, if he was going to allow himself to self-immolate. Even the tips of Griffon’s feathers were beginning to char.

That’s when, above the heat, Griffon sensed something. Well, actually two things. The first was a demonic presence nearby, but it felt strange, like it had been warped and twisted by the heat of the flames.

And secondly, a human presence…. A  _ living  _ human presence. Barely, but it was there, and if the location and size were any indication, it was almost certainly Nero’s girlfriend. (The kid hated when he called Kyrie that, which made Griffon call her that even more, just to mess with him.) 

“V!” He really had to yell now, the crackling of wood was deafening. “We got a live one here! And if you choose to keep being a catatonic son of a bitch, we’re going to lose her too!”

That was it, the trigger that snapped V back into reality, and his head turned towards the hall where the bedrooms were. Thankfully, it hadn't been hit hard by fire...yet, but it was only a matter of time. Using his cane, V pulled himself up and with strong sure, steps, made his way down the smoke filled corridor. The third door on the left was still closed, and using his sleeve to protect his hand from the heat, he twisted the doorknob to let himself in.

The room appeared deserted, but after a few seconds of a frantic search, Kyrie was found, unconscious in her sea-green frilly nightgown.

“She’s still alive!” Griffon assured him, but the smoke must have knocked her out. Griffon could hear her heartbeat, still steady, but weak. If they hadn’t come here, or if they had been a few minutes late….

With surprising gentleness (and strength, a wet noodle like V didn’t seem to be the type to carry anything heavier than a sack of potatoes) he picked her up, and began to look for an exit. The window was latched shut, and even shattering it would cut the man to ribbons. It looked like the only way back was the way they came, except now, the flame had nearly consumed the entire living room, and was now creeping down the hall.

“Hold my cane,” V ordered with determination, and began striding through the flames, carrying the girl like she weighed nothing. Belias himself would think the man was insane. He jumped over a collapsed section of the floor, and barely missed a falling beam, but he managed to push through the wall of flames, into the comparatively chilly air outside. Even in the chaos surrounding them Griffon couldn’t help but notice that he had pulled the girl closer to himself as he passed the body of her deceased mother. Maybe the guy wasn’t all ice and stone to everyone other than his son. 

V’s breathing was heavy as he turned to see the home where he and his son had spent countless evenings talking, sparring, sharing meals. All gone…. V’s eyes were wide, lit by the orange glow, and for some reason, to Griffon he looked almost, scared? A trick of the light, it had to be. The man, aside from the incident in the ransacked bedroom all those years ago, never lost his composure.

“Where the hell is the Order?” Griffon squawked, looking around. Sure, this might be a commercial area, without a bunch of townsfolk gawking at the scene, but still, there should be a patrolling knight that had seen the flames by now and sounded the alarm, but nothing. “I wonder if it has something to do with that demon”

_ “Demon!?”  _ V hissed, taken out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, just a single one though, but it feels weird, like it’s been stomped on by Goliath and then reformed into something new.” Griffon decided not to mention that there was something about it that felt artificial, gave him the heebie jeebies.

The bundle in his arms shook, and a ragged coughing could be heard.

_ “Mama?”  _ Kyrie’s raspy voice could be made out, and it didn’t take a sharp eye to notice how startled the man was.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe, little one.” 

“Mr….. Giler...?””

Griffon didn’t need V’s sharp glance to convince him to keep his beak shut, but it did help for emphasis. The girl didn’t need a talking demonic bird to add to her troubles tonight as V, quite winded, managed to bring her back to the little two story building they all called home. Griffon didn’t want to mention that aside from her, and the demon, he felt nothing. No Credo, no Enrico. V had to have known that there was no one left alive in that house.

Shadow huffed softly as the doorbell of the shop ringed out. Kyrie had passed out again, but otherwise didn’t seem hurt.

“Dad?” THe tired voice of Nero came from the top of the stairs, as the boy rubbed his eyes, with Shadow’s eyes glowing out of the darkness, agitated ripples of dull ruby shimmered down her coat. She had a better feel for the aura of demons (Not that Griffon would ever admit that, of course) so she definitely felt that demon’s presence.

“Nero,” V said quietly as he placed the girl on one of the reading couches, attempting to disturb her as little as possible. “There’s been an incident at the Elesion’s, I need you to look after Kyrie while I investigate. Shadow, with me.” The cat slunk down the stairs, her pupils wide, and not just because of the dark. “Do not let anyone in until I return, unless it is one of her relatives.” Griffon wisely didn’t mention the near impossibility of that happening. He was too distracted that V was going out to confront said ‘incident’.

And with that, they were outside, Shadow skulking, her back arched, growling like the one time Griffon took that plushie she liked to sleep with.

“Are you fuckin crazy, V?” he hissed as he attempted to slow down the man's rapid pace by flying in front of him. “You just played hero already, and that must have taken a lot out of you. We have no idea who, or what this demon is, and I gotta admit, you’re not in any shape to take on one.”

“That’s what you two are for.” He answered simply as he sidestepped the bird.

“Why not just go back, lock yourself up with the kid, and just let the professionals do their job?”

“The best defense is a good offense,” V responded, before chuckling, “I’m beginning to sound like my brother…”

“Exactly! Perfect sign that you’re doing the wrong thing!” Griffon landed on Shadow’s back, ignoring her protestations. “So… you did your good deed of the week, go back and get that kid some much needed therapy.”

“I would not have to do this, if the Order did their job-” Both feline and man suddenly halted, causing the bird to topple off with an undignified squawk.

“Wh-” but he was silenced by the sharp snap of the metal cane on stone. V pointed it ahead, and Griffon followed it to where it pointed, of a figure in the middle of the piazza, standing in front of the fountain. It seemed like it was hunched over, and even in the dim light, Griffon could make out a flash of yellow fabric in its metal clad hand. 

It didn’t take long before it noticed their presence, and slowly, it stood up to its full height, a good half metre taller than V. The moonlight glittered off its armour, marking it out as one of the Order knights, but there was something terribly off about it. 

“Knight,” V spoke out, “There is a demonic presence here, where is your company? Why have you not commenced a hunt for the creature?”

No response, unless you count a cocking of the head, and Griffon swore he saw a flicker across its odd looking visor as it observed them. Okay, this was creepy. And Shadows’ sudden snarling was enough to say that this ‘Knight’ was not what it appeared to be at first.

The shifting of light on its lance was it’s only clue for its intentions.

“SHIT SHIT SHIT!” He  ~~ shrieked ~~ yelled as he flew out of the line of attack, as the knight lunged forward at impossible speeds towards V. The man didn’t have a chance to dodge, or even to brace..

Not that he would have to, as Shadow reformed herself into an onyx shield, blocking the blow, and giving time to allow Griffon to yank on V’s wrist and lift him up.

“What the shiiiiit!” he said as he flew out of what he thought was (hopefully) out of range. “I KNEW THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!” He couldn’t keep V, even though he was skin and bones, up forever. They needed Kitty to do the heavy lifting while he fought out of range.

“Shadow!” V yelled out, as the cat’s form melted away, leaving behind a glassy orb. Maybe it was the chaos of the situation, but Griffon could have sworn he heard a tinge of grief in his voice. Maybe he was imagining it.

“Kitty will be fine! She’s just recharging” Griffon said between laboured breaths, “As long as that orb of hers remains intact, she’ll be safe. Let’s just focus on what’s more important….ME!” He was dangerously low to the ground and barely missed a swipe of the stupidly long lance.

“Put me down.”

“What!?”

“Put. Me. Down.”

“Yeah, that’s a WONDERFUL idea, offering my host to be skewered, reeeeal great.”

“We either fly around like fools until you drop me out of weariness, or we play with our friend on our terms.”

“Fine…. But I am NOT explaining to the kiddo that I let his dad become a demonic shish kabob.”   
He could feel V’s smirk in his voice as he touched ground, “Is that fondness I hear, Griffon?”

“Don’t get distracted by sentimentality, V. Let’s kick some demon ass….” He flared his wings out, allowing long neglected currents to fly from his wingtips. Oh, how long had he waited to do this. The acrid smell of electricity crackling through the air brought back memories. But… not the time to get nostalgic.

The Demon was predictably slow, but out of nowhere, it would charge up and move at speeds that couldn’t be possible by a human, and almost any demon. And yet, Griffon still felt like there was something… off… about it. Once Kitty reformed, he’d be able to match up his assessment with her, but for now, more pressing matters were happening.

Like picking up the man when the hunk of metal nearly grazed V, flying him to the side a few metres, and dropping him down and zapping the bugger, while its back was turned. Rinse and repeat....it was beginning to get boring. Kitty was taking her damn time.

And finally, as they had circumnavigated the fountain several times, (the statue of their Saviour was looking a bit worse for wear) he heard the reassuring sound of demonic flesh being knitted together, and the tardy cat began to take shape.

Of course, the buckethead had to notice that, and suddenly changed course, to intercept before she fully reformed, and possibly destroy her core. Griffon was out of range, even for one of his speediest bolts...and there would be no way to stop it before…

_ ‘Scum’ _

A light of brilliant azure shot out, and quickly caught up to the monstrosity, and wait… was that a summoned sword? Last time Griffon had seen one of those babies, it had been one of a bunch thrown ineffectively at Ole Mundie by a nineteen year old punk. V, stripped of his demonic power, shouldn’t have been able to do that! Unless...he was using the dormant power of Nightmare.

It didn’t matter, because it was enough to distract the brute, which stopped short of lancing Shadow. She took this opportunity to turn herself into a lance of her own, pushing forward with enough force to pierce its torso and to knock it over. V took the opportunity to run forward, and with a boost from a lift and a drop from Griffon, slammed his metal cane through its helmet. With an elegant pirouette, he hopped off, and waited for the demon’s response. 

What happened surprised them all, the sound of metal being crunched, as the two recently created holes began to collapse on themselves, and a shriek of air and demonic energy left, as if escaping from a compressed container….and then, when the shrieks became almost too much, the demon violently exploded in a sphere of white light, momentarily blinding the trio. 

And Griffon could have sworn he heard something in that brightness….a weak, but genuine voice…

_ ‘Thank you...Forgive me, my Poppyseed...’ _

When their eyes readjusted to the darkness, all that was left...was predictably nothing. None of them were capable of harnessing a defeated demon’s energy as a weapon, but it didn’t matter, the bastard had been dealt with. They should be celebrating a job well done, except that there was much to be done, such as getting the authorities to get off their asses and take care of the fire. And also, with the demonic presence gone, Griffon swore he could feel another aura, just plain human, from a distance. But he couldn’t locate them. It felt like they were being watched, but maybe it was just his frayed nerves from saving everyone’s asses. Besides, no need to disturb V, he looked kinda winded from all of this.

“Let us begone of this place,” V said, and began limping off, the exhaustion from the fight had clearly drained him. Shadow padded beside him, and with a slight grumble about “No one appreciates my hard work,” Griffon flew off as well.

And in the night wind, a yellow silk handkerchief flew off into the wind…..

  
  


By the time he had gotten to the inferno that used to be the Elesion’s home, V had regained a large portion of his strength. He would never admit it, but he was surprised that he had defeated that demon so easily. Sure, he had needed the aid of both his familiars, and his former whole self would have dispatched it without even looking at it, but still, what he had accomplished was impressive.

Sorrowfully, it would not save the Elesion’s, as he now was surrounded by horrified onlookers, most who hadn’t even changed out of their nightwear, leaving an unsettling image of a collection of Fortunians without their hoods. By now, there was no part of the home, or the bakery that hadn’t caught in the firestorm, despite the actions of the (incredibly late, in his opinion) fire brigade. Murmurs from the townsfolk, filled the silence between the pops of superheated wood and plaster. No doubt the ladies would be congregating around the piazza gossiping about this for months. But V’s primary thoughts were on the youngest member, Kyrie. He of all people knew what it felt to lose all that you had ever loved. But he did not know what he would say, what to do…

**“MOTHER!”**

V’s head swung around, and saw the crowd part...no, more was like thrown aside as a young man in white and blue squire’s outfit. V’s heart soared in recognition. 

_ Credo was alive….his sister would not be alone… _

But that relief was immediately as he saw the look on the young man’s face. Terror, horror, and pure anguish flickered in his eyes, in time with the light of the flames. Without warning, he ripped off his overcoat, and with a face filled with furious determination, he began to rush into the corpse of his home. Had it not been for the slight pause he did, mentally assessing the best path to take into the flames, he would have surely slipped out of V’s grasp.

But that precious second was enough for V to grasp him, and using his limited strength, and his cane, he blocked Credo from going any further.

“You go in there, you will not come out.” he ordered firmly, while the man struggled.

“Let me go, my family is in there!”

“You’re wrong, your sister is safe in my home, and she needs her brother now more than ever.”

Credo’s struggles momentarily stopped at the realization, and he searched V’s face to see if he was lying.

Hope blossomed on his face, as he gripped on V’s arms. “Kyrie’s alive?” V kept his face as neutral as possible as he nodded, dreading the next question, which Credo instantly asked. “Mother and Father, they’re alright as well?” V, the coward he was, couldn’t bring himself to speak, but the way his eyes diverted away was enough to convey the message.

_ “No...nononono…”  _ Credo began to slowly collapse, his knees hitting the pavement, barely cushioned by his discarded coat.  _ “I should have been with them...I could have saved them...I shouldn't have accepted that offer to spend the night at the barracks…” _

V recognized the dangerous spiral the man was heading down, and decided to head it off, as best he could.

“We cannot foresee the future, nor can we change the past...all we can do is choose what we do in the present.” Words were empty platitudes, but it was all he could offer to the boy who had been forced to be a man far too soon.

And he stood in support of him, his hand resting on the shaking shoulder of the young squire, realizing that no matter the age, whether he was eight, or seventeen, the feelings of powerlessness would feel the same.

*****

It was a dreary affair, the funeral. The gathering was small, consisting of only a few of Enrico’s Order comrades, and many of the employees and customers of Cecilia’s bakery. None of either their extended families had shown up, despite both coming from prominent families on the island. He stood with his hands steadying his quivering son’s shoulders as the coffins carrying the remains of the adults (there was little left of Cecilia, and of Enrico, nothing but his sword, gently placed in the casket by his son) were lowered into the ground. Two white roses were placed on top of the wood by a blank eyed Kyrie, before the morbid task of filling the plot with dirt began.

As the crowd began to disperse for the memorial gathering, V looked across the cemetery, to where Hannah rested. He would often take Nero to visit his mother, on her birthday and other occasions, and sometimes he would come alone, to speak to what he hoped was her spirit. To ask for advice, to update her on Nero’s progress, (she would be so glad that he was a bright child, even if he didn’t inherit her love of writing.) He longed to speak to her now, to ask if he had done enough in the past week. But even if she had deigned to answer him, he already knew what the response would be. Of course he hadn’t. Two people, his friends, were dead because he was too weak to save them. 

But right now, the time for regret had passed, and all he could do was focus on the present. Their children needed the support that their own families seemed content to ignore. And even though he had no idea what to do, he would try his best. And so he guided his son, pale and withdrawn, towards the worn stone chapel.

“So, I asked him where he gets this ginormous kaiser bun every day for lunch,” a aged knight regaled V and other soldiers and their wives, holding a glass with a fine vintage reserved mostly for happy occasions, such as weddings, and yet it felt fitting here. This was a celebration, not of death, but of life, no matter how small the gathering.

“Rico says to me, ‘Every Morning, I stop by that bakery near Saviour’s garden, and this cute baker girl has one made  _ just  _ for me.’ So I asks him ‘Where do you get that idea from? You’re just one of hundreds of people she sees every single day.’” The man sipped the wine, his eyes becoming soft and wistful as he continued, “He shows me the bun, and it’s absolutely covered in poppyseeds. Not just sprinkled on top, but coated everywhere!, and he says, ‘My lil’ Poppyseed… she only does this for me. I didn’t even ask! I just mentioned I really liked them one day, and the next thing I know, she’s got one ready, straight out of the oven for me.’ If that isn’t true love, I dunno what is.”

The men chuckled and raised their glasses, and the next person began to tell a personal story, about one of many times the Knight-Bannerette had peeved off his superiors with his suggestions for reform. V frowned. Undoubtedly, he would be asked to tell a tale in remembrance, but he had no idea what to say. Their first meeting, when Cecilia had brought over that basket of bread, still warm out the oven, as a housewarming gift? Or how Enrico had aided in him carrying furniture into his new home? (the man, truthfully had done most of the heavy lifting, V was still prideful enough to feel shame at how weak he was at that time). Or how, they were the few people in his life that he’d formed a bond with?

“Shame that both their families are still acting like crotchety old matrons about the marriage. Their generations-long rift could have been healed right then and there, but they’d prefer to squabble over something that probably happened when Lord Sparda ruled over this land.” One of the others, a young wife of an officer, commented. “Poor little Kyrie, neither side of the family wants to take her in, and at such a young age…. I’d be willing to give her a home, but,” she patted her swollen belly, “in three months time, Lorenzo and I will have our hands full.” Rumbles of awkward agreement as all gathered had excuses of their own, of varying degrees of plausibility.

“Wait,” V spoke out, himself most surprised that he had done so, “Is Credo not old enough to take care of his sister? He’s over the age of seventeen.”

“Ah, Mr. Giler,” the original Knight replied as he filled his glass up again, “I’ve heard that the young man has already attempted to apply for guardianship over his sister, but the Order deems him too young without an older guarantor to shoulder the responsibility if something were to happen to him. He’ll spend his last two years before adulthood as a ward of the Order, which will leave little time for him to watch over his sister. It’s a sad situation for all involved, but there’s little we can do.”

V looked down at his still unsipped glass of wine, and then across the chapel, to a small room where both Elesion siblings sat, dressed in mourning black. Credo’s arms were around the quaking form of his little sister, as if he was worried she’d be torn away from him. 

_ He could not change the past, nor predict the future….but he COULD choose the present. _

*****

The soft mururings that echoed in the hall contrasted with the sharp  _ CLACK  _ of the cane, as did the ivory white marble contrast with V’s usual black overcoat. Around him, members of the Order cast suspicious glances at him, a non-practicing Fortunian. In truth, he hadn’t stepped foot in these halls since...well, since his first visit to the island. Last time, it was to seek information to protect himself. This time, it was to protect others. His former whole self would have been incredulous to his actions, but he paid Vergil’s judgement the same amount as he did to the whispers of hooded figures as he passed.

Ahead, a stained oak door with a brass nameplate on it, indicated his destination. Behind it he could hear muffled voices, which could barely make out until he was inches away. V paused, allowing himself to hear a snippet of the conversation.

“Sir, I assure you that I can take care of my sister as well as attend my duties as a Squire.”

“I have faith in you Credo, but the path to knighthood needs your full attention. You sister will be well taken care of.”

“But-”   
“Look, even if I felt confident you could fulfill both duties, you would still need a guarantor, and since none have been willing to step forward my hands are tied.”

V had heard quite enough, and rapped on the door with his cane. An uncomfortable period of silence later, he heard an authoritative voice commanding his entrance.

It was a cozy wood panelled room, with yet another (tacky, in V’s opinion) prayer figurine of the Savior on an antique wood desk. Credo’s superior sat behind it, files fanned out around his desk. The young man himself, looking frazzled and tired, blearily looked at V, not expecting his arrival.

But also in the corner of the room, was another figure, who apparently hadn’t been participating in the recent conversation. The hairs on the back of V’s neck as he observed him. Order uniform, of course, but in the white and gold colour scheme, indicating he was in the highest rank, but what would he be doing here on such a low ranking matter? The man cocked his head and adjusted his ostentatious monocle.

“Mr. Giler” he bowed slightly as he introduced himself. “I come here on urgent business-”

“Well, urgent as it might be, I am in the middle of something-”

“It actually has to do with the situation at hand.” V steeled himself, “I’ve come to offer myself as a guarantor to Credo.”

At that, all three men startled. Credo’s eyes widened, the Captain dropped his pen, and the man in the corner frowned and rubbed his chin.

V pressed forward “I have been a family… friend” the word had been hard to say, but now that it was out in the open, it felt like it was admission long in the waiting, “of the Elesion’s for nearly a decade, and I can attest to Credo’s devotion to the Order, as well as his drive and determination. I believe he can handle both duties at the same time.”

The man stared at him for a moment, completely at a loss for words. “You...do know the duties and responsibilities of a guarantor, Mr. Giller,”

“GIL-er” V corrected yet again, “and yes, I have read through the documents pertaining to this thoroughly. As long as Credo feels my offer is acceptable, I am ready and willing to vouch for him.

“Well...this is rather… unprecedented,” the older man said, sparing a glance to the man at the corner, “But I see no reason that it could not go through, that is,” he looked back at Credo, “if you agree to it. Even with Mr. Giler’s aid, it will still be a difficult road to travel…” V’s brow furrowed at the man’s attempt to dissuade the Squire.

He needn’t have worried of Credo being affected, if the speed he reached for a pen indicated.

“O-of course, which papers do I sign? I would trust Mr. Giler with anything!” 

His commanding officer (reluctantly, V noticed) handed over the required documents, and felt a strange sense of...pride? Credo might be desperate, but V could tell he was sincere in how the young man spoke of him.

Hurriedly, both Credo and V signed a few sheets of legalese, as two hard faced men looked on.

  
  


Both V and Credo walked out of the office (the door seemed to slam behind them, but perhaps it was due to its weight), the younger man nearly bouncing with unrestrained energy. It was good to see him like this, after a week and a half of sorrow. Both the siblings deserved something better than the fate that had been given to them.

They’d made it out of the main building and out into one of the small parks that dotted the city, before Credo finally stopped.

“Mr. Giler…” he said, trying to form his words properly, “I don’t know how I will ever repay you for this,”   
“There is noth-”

Credo waved him off before continuing, “Nonsense, you risked your life to save my sister, you gave us both a safe place to stay during this past week, and now…” he took a deep breath as he hastily wiped tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks, “you gave me the chance to remain with the last bit of family I have left. I-I- don’t know how to thank you…”

V cautiously placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder to steady both him, and himself, “All I ask is that you take care of Kyrie to the best of your ability. Siblings should not be split up, under any circumstances.” He left his thoughts unsaid, yet the Squire was wise enough to perceive them.

“You have experience with…?”

“Yes, although it is a past best left buried.” Despite his animosity with Dante, he often wondered what would have happened if they had found each other shortly after the fire. They had been nigh inseparable before the disaster, undoubtedly they would have remained together afterwards, and possibly averted the cruel fate that awaited both of them...but now was not the time for regrets, the present was more important.

“Mother and Father left us with a generous inheritance, and the insurance policy for the bakery fire (V never uttered his suspicions about the true cause of the blaze to anyone). We should be well taken care of on that front. Speaking of which…” he looked at his watch. “I need to pick Kyrie up, and tell her the good news.” He straightened his uniform, usually pristine, but which had looked increasingly disheveled throughout the week. He gave a short bow, and left, trying his damndest not to sprint. 

V allowed himself to smile. No doubt Griffon would snark about him becoming ‘soft’, but this was clearly the best thing he could have done, considering the circumstances. Who knew what lay before them, but for once, V embraced the present wholeheartedly, and closed his eyes.

“Ahh, a very noble thing to do...”

Of course, someone had to ruin the moment. V turned to come face to face with the man that had been skulking in the corner of the Captain’s office. A fake smile was plastered on his face.

“So, you’re the young man I heard about that braved that fire to rescue the girl..” he circled V, as if he was inspecting him. V was tempted to whack him with his cane. “I was expecting you to be a bit less…” the last word was unspoken, but V knew exactly what it was... _ Weak.  _ He kept his composure, he could play the fake politeness game just as well.

“People say you did it single handedly, but you  _ must have  _ had some sort of help” 

What the hell was he implying? Had this man seen Griffon? Best to play dumb, until he was overtly accused.

“I believe that in periods of great strength, humans are capable of extraordinary feats.” he smoothly replied, and to his surprise...he meant it. A decade ago he would have scoffed at the weakness of humanity, but now? He understood. It only took untold suffering and his son to discover such an obvious fact, but one that he was beginning to understand.

_ “Humans” _ the man sneered at the word, his pleasant facade cracking for a moment, before hastily reforming, “Mr. Giller,”

“GIL-er”, V was almost certain he had mispronounced it on purpose.

“Mr. Giler, there are powerful things in this world, many beyond our comprehension, and I believe we are on the cusp of taking them for ourselves, wouldn’t you agree?”

V couldn’t help but respond. This man sounded much like Arkham….too much. “Of course, but such things lead down dangerous paths, so you must always be aware, Mr…?”

“ _ Lord  _ Agnus” Ah, of course this man would be from the old nobility. Pretentious prick. Still best not to rock the boat.

“Apologies, Lord Agnus. Now if you will excuse me, my son is waiting for my return.”

“Ah yes… the fatherly bond with their child. I may not have experience with it, but it seems to be quite the connection.” He adjusted his monocle again, and bowed “Well, I shan’t keep you, you most likely are a very busy man.”

V managed to force himself a return bow, before leaving the gardens…. And feeling like he was being watched the entire time.


	6. Shattered Glass Of Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The path between father and son diverge, and their stubbornness threatens to to make it permanent.

Despite the fact his dad kept his office perfectly organized, somehow the dust accumulated like constantly lightly falling snow. And being a room that housed some particularly rare and valuable antique books, careful cleaning of the room was nearly a daily chore. Usually his father would do it, sometimes with Shadow and Griffon aiding him. (The former would silently help, the latter… well he made sure everyone knew how much he hated it.)

But for the next few days, it was Nero’s task. Not because of punishment, but because his dad was off on the Mainland, to meet with some other book dealers. Sure, he had wanted to go with his dad, even if it would be boring listening to people talk about old books, but his father was insistent that he needed to stay here, to keep an eye on the shop. In any other situation, Nero would have been put out, but this time, instead of being sent over to the Elesion (Used to be Kyrie’s parents, but ever since the fire, Credo had taken over), he was going to be on his own for the next three days. It was a test of a sort for the sixteen year old, to see if he could be trusted to take care of himself. The only stipulations was to keep things tidy, and to never, ever, take that ring off his necklace. The first was tedious at worst, and the second… well, it was the only physical item he had of his mother, so no way was he ever going to be separated from it.

He lifted the hospital photo of her and him off the table, smiled at her, and wiped underneath of it before carefully setting it back. 

“Hey mom,” he smiled. It was nice talking with her here, instead of that cold gravestone that his father took him to on occasion. “So, you know Kyrie, right? Well… I um,” even talking to a photo about this made him feel nervous, “Well, I finally screwed up the courage to ask her out. I know, I know...about bloody time, I’ve only had a crush on her for the past two years.” He wiped down the leather chair, “so, tonight, we’re going on our first date. I haven’t quite figured out everything, but I thought that little restaurant on the corner would be a nice place…”

_ “Now, I do expect you to maintain your studies.” his father said as he placed that brown book of poetry he always carried around in his suitcase. “I’ve left the phone number of the hotel where I will be staying, in case of emergency.” _

_ “Dad.” _

_ “If anyone comes to call, kindly inform them that the business is temporarily closed, not that I am out of town, and that it will be open in four days time.” He coaxed a now kitten sized Shadow into the cat carrier, while Griffon laughed at the feline’s predicament. _ _   
_ _ “Dad!” _

_ His father seemed not to hear him, as he checked to see if he had all the things he needed (for the third time, Nero noticed). It was kinda funny watching his rather in control father being so nervous. _

_ “If Mr. Stromboli insists that he’s found yet another ‘rare’ manuscript that he wants appraised, just make an appointment for him for when I return, I will deal with his latest ‘discovery’. There’s a small amount of cash in the safe, to be used if there is an emergency, but I expect an itemized list of expenses if it is used.” _

_ “DAD!” _

_ His father froze, his eyes wide, his hands twitching, and Nero had to resist the urge to laugh at how much he resembled a deer in the headlights. _

_ “I’ll be fine, dad. I got everything under control. You can trust me, it’ll be just like you never left.” _

_ His dad sighed as he clicked the suitcase latches closed and took a deep breath. _

_ “I apologise,” he said as he struggled to lift the case off the bed, and Nero helped him lower it down onto the floor. “It is just… it feels like mere moments ago, I held you as a babe in my arms, and already you have grown up to take your first steps into adulthood.” _

_ Nero rubbed the bridge of his nose in embarrassment, “I’m still just a teenager dad, you get a few moments more with me annoying you.” _

_ His dad let out a rare chuckle, “well, allow a father to long for the simpler days, where his son was more concerned about being the best at hide and seek, and not how to drive a car, or....” he paused as they passed the laundry room, where Nero had been ironing his dress shirt, “impressing a certain young lady” _

_ Shit… _

_ “I….uh…” he attempted to deflect, suddenly attempting to distract his father by pulling the suitcase down the stairs. _

_ Another laugh (wow, two in one day? This had to be a record.) “As long as she consents, and you treat her as a lady deserves, I will not stand in your way.” _

_ Nero rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. Oh God, was he that obvious? Even Credo, who spent all of his time not looking after his sister at the Order Headquarters, had noticed. It was him who basically spilled the beans to Kyrie about how much Nero liked her. He’d really given Credo an ass whooping the next time they’d sparred because of that. _

_ “That’s..great!” he finally admitted, “I was thinking of taking her out on a date tomorrow. Maybe we could go out for pizza? _

_ A flicker of disgust flashed across his dad’s face “Eh…” he attempted to find to disagree diplomatically “It wouldn’t be my first suggestion, it seems a bit..casual.” _

_ “Well,” Nero said after thinking it over, “where did you and mom go for dates?” _

_ That took his dad off guard, if only for a moment, but then the man looked forlorn. _

_ “I… I do not think I ever took her out, not even once while we were together.” Regret was clearly on his face, and Nero suddenly felt like shit for asking. _

_ “I think she was happy just being with you, no matter where you went.” He tried to assure his dad, which kinda partially worked, but the distant honking of a taxi outside was enough to get his dad focused back on the task at hand. _ _   
_ _ “Have fun!” Nero chirped happily. Shadow growled at being kept in a cat cage, indicating that whatever happened, she definitely wasn’t going to have fun, “Make sure he keeps out of trouble, the both of you,”  _

_ “Of course, we’re his lovely guardian angels!” Griffon snickered. And after helping load both the cage and suitcase into the car, he waved as it drove off, Griffon following a discreet distance behind. _

He was so lost in the memory, that he didn’t notice his elbow sticking out, (His latest growth spurt had taken some time to get used to, and now he towered over his dad, at the freaking age of sixteen!) and hit something light and wooden. Too late did he realize his mother’s portrait was falling to the floor.

_ SMASH _

“Shitshitshitshit” he cursed as he crouched down, to the pile of broken wood and glass. The frame and glass were destroyed, but as he gingerly brushed the debris aside, to his relief, the picture was intact. With reverence, he retrieved it and shook it gently to get any shards of glass off of it.

“I’m sorry mom….I’m so sorry…” he murmured as his fingers skimmed the slightly rough texture of the photo. She looked so radiant and beautiful and proud, despite probably just experiencing hours and hours of painful labour. And her smile! Sometimes when he caught himself smiling in a reflection, he realized how much he resembled her. Tears threatened to spill over, but he forced them back; he wouldn’t have them ruin the delicate material, more valuable than all the books in the entire store, the entire island, hell, the entire world.

He turned the photo over, to make sure that there were no remaining splinters of wood. He’d have to replace the frame, maybe something more durable, like gilt silver? He’d saved up some money for the date with Kyrie, but he’d probably scale back. He’d hope she would understand.

Strange… there was writing on the back. It didn’t look like his father’s quick strokes. Was it his mother’s?

He quickly brought it up to the light, to make out the penmanship.

_ Nero Adrien Scriba _

_ Born November 25 _ _ th _

_ 4:15 A.M. _

_ Weight: Six Pounds, Eight Ounces _

Oh, if this was his mother’s handwriting, it would be the only sample he had. His father told him that the demon attack had destroyed nearly everything, leaving only Nero, the ring he wore, and the photo, the only things V had been able to save. Weird, his last name was  _ Scriba _ instead of  _ Giler. _ Maybe his dad had changed his last name, after her death, in order to keep people from gossiping.

But, at the very bottom, he saw more writing….and this didn’t make sense at all….

_ He has his father’s lovely hair. _

And a seed of doubt in his mind...long dormant, began to grow again….

******

He was busy multitasking, eating his cereal at the kitchen table, while finishing off the final touches for his final school project: a much improved version of the Order’s Durandel, something he had named  _ Red Queen _ (he named it after his mother, and her favourite colour). Hopefully after graduating, he might be able to create it. The problem was, it wouldn’t work with anyone but him, the torque the engine created would require a person with immense strength, and Nero knew that he was one of the stronger, if not the strongest teenager at school, which made this sword just like himself: loud and one of a kind.

His concentration was obliterated by the heavy slap on the table. There, in front of him was a thick envelope, with the conspicuous official Order sigil stamped in the corner. His name and address was written in thick ink. He stared at it for a moment, before looking at where it came from, up at his father, who was staring down at him with anxiety inducing intensity. 

“Open it.” His father ordered, and Nero hesitated. He knew what was in that envelope, a response to his secret application to the Order. And he knew what his dad felt about the institution. Despite the fact that they were friends with the Elesion family, whose family tree was intertwined with the Order for countless generations, his father distrusted the institution, for reasons he never would explain. Had Nero told him he was applying the moment he turned nineteen, well, the electricity shows Griffon could pull off would pale in comparison to what fireworks would happen between father and son. So, Nero had decided asking for forgiveness was easier than asking for permission.

Still, this confrontation wasn’t something he was looking forward to. He slowly reached for the high quality paper envelope, and picked it up, noticing that it had already been opened, a perfectly cut slit at the top.

Dread was turned into rage. “You opened it!” he accused.

“It was addressed to my home, and I felt it was within my purview to check the contents.” His father’s voice was even, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong which pissed Nero off even more. 

Grumbling, Nero widened the slit, and a crisp sheet of paper topping a pad of other forms slipped out. Nero’s eyes scanned the paper, picking up words such as  _ ‘accepted’ _ , and  _ ‘inducted’ _ . He couldn’t help it, even with his frowning father looking down on him, he grinned. Nero would be joining the Order, and thanks to Credo’s recommendation, he would be skipping a couple of ranks. Maybe he would even make it to Knighthood!

The clearing of his father’s throat popped his good mood like a pin to a balloon.

“Why?”

Nero looked up perplexed at his father. Was he that dense, to not know why he wanted to do this?

“Really dad, you’re asking me this question?”

“I deserve an explanation, as your father”

“Well, as a nineteen year old, I think it’s none of your goddamn business,” Nero snapped back, “Why don’t you like the Order? What’s so horrible about them?”

His father shuffled from foot to foot. “It’s hard to explain, but I cannot trust them. They carry many secrets, not to mention that demon they profess to revere.”

“That’s it?” Nero barked angrily, “some weird gut reaction? Is Credo untrustworthy because he’s part of the Order? Was his dad?”

A low blow, but Nero kept on the pressure. “You wanna know why I want to join? The Order is the shield for this island, protecting everyone from demons, just like they say about Sparda! I want to be able to be like them, to be able to protect everyone, the people I care about. That way, no other kid on this island will ever lose their mother to demons, no kid will have to visit their parent’s grave to talk to them! Wouldn’t you want that? The power to protect!?”

He must have hit a nerve, because his father’s eyes widened, but he didn’t respond. Nero quickly used this moment of reprieve to scan the other documents, what his uniform would consist of, where he would go for training, all other mundane things. He’d prove his father wrong, that the Order was a force for good, even if he didn’t really believe in Sparda the same way they did.

“I forbid it,” his father said hoarsely, as he packed his things into his backpack. Maybe the Order would allow him to develop a prototype of Red Queen, with all their resources? He tried to ignore his father. 

But his dad was persistent, “As your father, I forbid-”

“Guess what,  _ father? _ ” he put extra sarcasm on the last word, “I’m nineteen, I’m an adult, and I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“You live under my roof, you follow my rules,” his father shot back.

“Well, I guess I just won’t be living here then.” And before his dad could say anything, he swung the backpack onto his shoulder and went to the front closet to get his shoes, Shadow, pawing after him. She didn’t try to stop him, thankfully. She could be very persistent when she wanted him to do something, like letting her have most of his bed at night.

Griffon, on the other hand, protested a little bit more loudly.

“Kid…”

“Don’t start.”

“Look, I’m not saying that you should stay here and do whatever your dad says, but seriously, you’re going to just cut him out of your life over this? Just give it a day or two, let things cool down. He’s pissed because you kept this from him.”

“Because I knew that he’d react like this!”

“I know, he’s being a dick, but give him some time! Look, I can try to convince him…”

“Just let me go, he’s not going to change his mind. He’s so set in his ways.”

He swung on his jacket, made sure he had his wallet, and without another word, he slammed the door shut behind him. In his rage, he didn’t hear his father’s voice softly, almost apologetically call out his name from the kitchen.

*****

“Hey Kid! KID!” Griffon called out as Nero walked, attempting to ignore the bird as he flapped around his head. It took the running leap and tackle of Shadow to force him to pay attention to the two familiars. One moment he was on the way to the one place he could possibly clear his thoughts, the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, a big furry black mass licking his face with something that felt like wet coarse sandpaper.

“We’ve been looking all over for you! Thought you had vanished off the island, maybe even left!” The bird landed on a bench while he pushed the cat off of him.

“V sent you to spy on me, right?” he said as he dusted the black hairs off his white uniform overcoat.

Griffon looked rather offended, well, as offended as a bird could be. “What?! No! Me and Kitty have been worried about you, honest! Ain’t that right Kitty?” Shadow seemed to growl affirmatively. Griffon continued, “In fact, if V knew we were stalk- I mean, looking out for you, he’d be pissed. He keeps telling us that ‘Nero’s an adult now, he can do what he wants’, but he ain’t fooling me, hell, even dumb as rocks Kitty knows!” Shadow quickly reacted, and swiped at him with a snarl, so close to hitting him, a couple feathers fluttered off of him. “He’s worried about you, and to be perfectly honest, so have we. It’s been three months since we’ve even heard anything about you, let alone found a time to approach without some busybody spying on us.”

Nero didn’t want to deal with them, not now when he wanted to be alone, more than ever. “I don’t know why he’d feel like that, he made his opinion quite perfectly clear the last time I saw him.”

“You’re his kid! Of course he’s not going to be angry forever!”

Nero just laughed bitterly. Griffon was either delusional, or in on the charade. Either way, he didn’t want to be anywhere near the bird.

“Okay, I’m fine. You got your answer, you can flap back to V and tell him I’m alive.”

Griffon landed back on the bench, but this time out of immediate reach of Shadow. “Why not tell him yourself?”

“So he can continue to harangue me about my life choices? Forgive me if that doesn’t sound fucking appetizing.”

“Sheesh,” the bird stretched his wings before lifting off, “Stubborn. Of course THAT’S the trait you got from your dad. Come on Kitty, there’s no convincing him, unless we drag him back home, and then his dad will kill us. Look,” Griffon said as he hovered in front of the young man, “The front door is always open, day and night, and I know, even if he won’t say it, your dad wants you home. One of you just has to put on your big boy pants and take the first step.” 

And with that, he flew off, muttering something about ‘damn nineteen year olds and being pig headed’, leaving Nero with Shadow, who strangely seemed more persuasive just by looking at him with those sad crimson eyes. He patted her head, and gave her a good scritch, and gave her a sad smile. 

“Look, I get that you want things back to normal. But,” he looked up at the gate of the Fortuna Graveyard. “Something’s come up… and I have to think things over before I decide to come back or not.”

Shadow gave an annoyed huff, and after demanding one more scratch, she ran after the bird, transforming mid leap into her diminutive cat size. 

After waiting a minute to make sure neither of them would return, Nero sighed, checked to see if the flower in his pocket was still there, and entered the wrought iron gate.

“Hi mom,” Nero said as he set the flower, a red poppy at the gravestone. “Sorry, it’s been a while. I’ve been busy the entire summer. Guess what? I graduated! I didn’t do that great at English, so I won’t be a writer like you, but I was nearly top of my class in Math, and….” He pulled out the hefty sword that was latched to his back, “I got top marks for designing this. Her name is Red Queen, I named her in honour of you. I hope you don’t mind.” He spun the sword around to show off his proficiency with it. And although he was highly tempted, he resisted the urge to rev the internal blade engine, out of respect to her and the surrounding dead. “I also managed to design and create this,” he pulled out a hefty gun, gleaming in the weakening autumn sun. “I’m gonna call her ‘Blue Rose’ ‘cuz that’s Kyrie’s favourite flower. By the way, I’m part of the Order now!” He beamed. “I’m actually not part of any particular company, I’ve been assigned as an operative, since I seem to be able to sneak up on demons like it’s the easiest thing ever. I get to protect people, and slice and dice up demons on the regular. It’s everything I ever wanted…” he looked down, and his hand rose up and gripped the ring that hung off his necklace.

“Mom,” he said after taking a deep breath, “It’s been over ten years, but I’ve always wondered why me and da-V didn’t look alike. I always just accepted that I inherited my looks from you, but I felt there was more to it. A little side benefit about joining the Order is that I’m allowed into the records room. So, I guess I thought I would take a look, you know? Just to put my mind at ease. So I checked and…” he closed his eyes as if it would block out the memories.  _ “V’s not my birth father…” _

All his years of denial smashed the instant he looked at the blank spot where his father’s name ought to be. No, it wasn’t blank, it said, loud in clear in clinical emotionless writing, was the word:

**UNKNOWN**

And in a separate form, labeled ‘Adoption Application’, was V’s name, as well as his signature. So not only had his worst fear came true, being adopted, he was a literal bastard. Had V been his birth father, he wouldn't have had to apply to adopt him, he could have just filled in that blank spot in his record sheet.

“Who was he, mom?” he fell to his knees before the stone, wishing she would answer, “Did he leave you when he found out you were pregnant? Did he die? I’m not angry at you, you kept me safe! I just… I just…” he wiped his eyes, “I just wasn’t expecting my entire life, the man I trusted and loved, was all based on a lie.” Why hadn’t V told him? Sure, finding out he was adopted earlier on in his childhood would have been traumatic, but at least the honesty would have made him confident in everything the man he had called father said. Now, his mind raced from memory to memory, trying to figure out how much truth there was in anything he had said. About his mother, about his past, hell, about Griffon and Shadow. Had V demanded he not join the Order in fear that he’d find out the truth? It seemed far fetched, but then again, he’d kept up a nineteen year old lie, and worse, used it on the man he called  _ ‘son’. _ Nero had half a mind to storm over to the little bookstore and demand the truth, most likely at the tip of Red Queen. 

But Nero, even in his pain and rage, knew that wouldn’t make anything better, in fact, no matter what V’s response was, their already damaged relationship would be irrevocably destroyed.

He wanted to rip that damn necklace off, and throw it and the ring as far as he could into the ocean, but the memory of that photo, the image seared into his brain, it showed her wearing that exact same purple gemmed ring, which was enough proof to know that, if nothing else, that was something he needed to hold onto. That was her gift to him.

If his mother heard his pleas, she didn’t respond, all he could hear was the whistling of the wind through the trees and...wait, was that singing? Nero searched around. He knew that voice, and he deduced where it was coming from.

Slowly he approached the graves of Enrico and Cecillia Elesion, where Kyrie was singing one of the canticles, one of those sung in remembrance of the dead, if his scant Church knowledge was correct. So, he stood back and let her continue, out of respect to the living and dead, and because he enjoyed her singing. Even if he didn’t share the beliefs of the island that Sparda was the Saviour of all mankind (after all, if he had been so powerful, why couldn’t he have protected his mother?), he wouldn’t hold it against his girlfriend, and others who placed their faith in the Saviour.

Too soon, she finished her song, and bowed to the pair of stones, before turning around and seeing him leaning against a tree.

“Oh, Nero! I didn’t hear you! I was just demonstrating how much I’ve been practicing for the Festival of the Sword in a few months.”

“You sounded lovely,” he spoke truthfully, and she blushed deeply.

“I still need practice, I'm still a bit rough around the edges, especially on the third verse.”

“I’m being honest about how beautiful you sound” he argued, “but if you ever want someone else to listen to your singing, I’m all ears!’

“You’re so sweet, Nero!” She kissed his cheek, and now it was his time to blush. “Were you here to see your mother?”

“Yeah, decided she ought to know about my induction into the Order,” he left out the other thing he’d wanted to talk to her about, no need to worry Kyrie about it.

“Is your father here? You always visited her with him,” she asked innocently, and Nero tensed up. He’d done his best to keep his disagreement with V under wraps, and for all intents and purposes, everyone was blissfully ignorant of the rapidly fraying relationship between the two of them.

“Nah, I just decided I really just needed to visit her on my own.” The wind picked up, and Kyrie attempted to hold back a shiver, her flimsy shawl providing little protection.

“Here!” he whipped off his Order jacket, and before she could protest, he covered her shoulders with it. “Would you like me to escort you home?”

They walked through the forest, talking about everything, and yet nothing at the same time. Kyrie gushed that Credo had been approached by the higher ups, for the position of Supreme-General, but he’d declined, preferring to be more hands on with his subordinates, and to spend more time outside his duties.

“I told him that I shouldn’t be the reason to hold him back, but he keeps telling me that he’s perfectly fine at the rank of Captain. I don- Nero?”

He’d stopped, a strange chill running up and down his spine. He couldn’t explain it, but he would often get a weird feeling when he was near demons. He’d only discovered it when he started with the Order, and he wasn’t sure if it was based on him detecting a demon by sight, smell, or sound, or if it was some sort of sixth sense. But right now, that feeling was screaming that there was danger nearby.

“Get down,” he ordered, and silently Kyrie obeyed. Slowly, he withdrew Red Queen, resisting the urge to rev her up. Everything aside from his breathing, his heartbeat, there was silence, nothing.

A small rustle of leaves was the only warning, and what a last minute warning it was! Half a second later, something, in the shape of a dog, but one with its skin flayed off leapt out of the foliage, towards them both. Nero timed the swing of the blade to block the attack, and the demon’s rotted teeth latched onto the shimmering medal. The momentum of the swing caused boththe demon, and unfortunately the sword to be flung and hit the ground a few metres away. Snarling, it spat out Red Queen, and with only the tiniest moment of recovery, it launched at Nero, knocking him down, and the force of the blow caused Kyrie to be knocked to the ground as well, skidding quite a distance away. To his horror, she didn’t move. But he had no time to freak out, because the demon leapt on him, it’s breath rancid as rotten fish, and with a sharp pain, bit into his arm. He reacted instinctively, and using both feet, he booted it in the stomach with so much force, it was launched back. He rolled and landed on his feet, his injured arm curled protectively against his chest, expecting another assault.

But the creature paused, and did something he’d never seen a demon do… it spoke.

_ “Sparda....” _

Nero knew that high level demons, the type that commanded armies, had the power of speech, but lone little demons like this? Speaking was thought to be beyond their abilities.

_ “Sparda…”  _ it repeated again, and then launched itself at him with an unholy shriek. 

**BANG**

Blue Rose answered its challenge and with an ear shattering cry of her own, and with the pull of the trigger, he managed to blind the monster. He felt a thrill of joy at its pained cries as it retreated back.

_ “SpardaspardaSPARDASpArDa!”  _ it repeated in a hateful mantra, sniffing the air, disoriented. Maybe he could capture it… a demon with the power of speech would be a good source of information. They could find out how they operate, their attack plans, how they thought.

He didn’t get anymore time to ruminate, because the creature turned suddenly and with a final sniff, it leapt, screaming that name one more time. But because it was blinded, it missed him entirely….

And was aiming directly at Kyrie, still laying there unconscious. The dog moved faster than he could track with Blue Rose, and he wasn’t close enough to stop the beast. He couldn’t do anything. 

“KYRIE!!!” he screamed, and despite the pain (although strangely, he couldn’t feel it anymore), his right arm reached out, in an ineffective gesture. All he could do is hope his voice would wake her up in time for her to move.

Suddenly, there was a brilliant blue light, and maybe it was the fear and adrenaline causing him to hallucinate, but he swore he saw a giant spectral blue claw emerge from his hand, shooting faster than anything he’d ever seen, and it gripped the demon by the torso, its teeth mere inches from his girlfriend’s exposed throat. The dog dangled there for a moment, like a toy in a toddler’s fist, before with a surprised yelp, both claw and monster were yoinked back to him.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even question what just happened, he took the creature and slammed it into the ground, once, twice, three times. Gore splattered everywhere, and before he knew it, there was nothing left, save for the smell of sulfurous ash, and a giant crater that kinda resembled the shape of a dog.

Only then, did he stop and catch his breath. He’d been in many fights with demons before, but never had he felt anything like that. Kyrie being in danger must have just rattled him so bad. He held his right arm, but the pain hadn’t reappeared, in fact...as his left hand tested it to see if the damage was bad, it felt different, like he was wearing some sort of armour. He peeked down, and was aghast at what he saw. Instead of the uncommonly pale skin (the only physical thing he seemed to have in common with V) crimson scales covered almost his entire hand and arm. And where there were no scales, a brilliant blue light, in the pattern of an artery, trailed down his arm. It would be so beautiful, if it didn’t look so…demonic. Maybe it was a side effect of the bite? 

It didn’t matter right now, as he wrapped it up with the ripped up sleeve, and ran to where Kyrie lay. He used his healthy hand to check for a pulse, and to his relief, it was strong and steady, as was her breathing. She must have been knocked out momentarily by the attack.

She stirred. “Nero?” she asked weakly. 

“It’s okay, it’s gone…” he said as he smiled at her, masking all the turmoil he felt. “Let’s get you home, and checked out.” And despite whatever happened to his arm, he felt no pain as he lifted her up and carried her home.

**** 

Nero was in a bind. Three months had passed, and his arm hadn’t healed. The scales remained, the glowing veins glimmered, same as before. He’d done a lot of research in the archives, trying to figure out if there had been any cases of poison or demonic infections, but nothing remotely similar had popped up. He was beginning to think that it wasn’t due to that strange talking demonic dog at all.

Which made the alternative even worse. Because as he looked through dusty old tomes that smelled like home, (he wasn’t homesick. HE WASN’T HOMESICK) he’d found that demons, when under a great deal of stress, could radically change their bodies, either temporarily, or more often, permanently. And he could almost pinpoint the moment when the change had occurred, right when the woman he loved was in danger. if it had been an injury, it should be more of a hindrance, than a help. Yet despite that, his hand, when out of its bandages and sling out on the field, moved with such grace and strength, it might has well have always been a part of him.

And that was what freaked him out the most. If it WAS part of him, that would make him… a demon. Just the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to be a demon, he didn’t want to be different, he just wanted to be accepted and loved…

So hence the whole bandage and sling these past few months. If people found out… He’d lose everything. The respect of his comrades in the Order, his friendship with Credo, his relationship with Kyrie…

And V. Oh god what would V think? Maybe he had been lying about his relationship with his mother, but Nero could tell he was speaking truthfully about the fate of his family, destroyed by demons, and his hatred for the denizens of the underworld. If he knew the child he adopted had demonic blood flowing through him… They might have not seen each other since the argument nearly a half a year ago, but Nero still didn’t want to lose the man he called dad permanently.

So he’d feigned an injury, keeping his arm wrapped up and in a sling. It was a decent excuse, although it severely limited his duties, and caused Kyrie unneeded worry. And he was running out of time. A few more weeks, and people’s concern would turn into suspicion. Already, Credo had requested a private meeting with him in his office at…

The distant ringing of church bells alerted him that the time was 2PM, which meant...oh shit he was late!

Cursing under his breath, his feet echoed on marble as he ran, dodging groups of other Order soldiers. Some tried to get his attention, but he paid them no mind. Credo might be his friend, but he was also his superior, and he really despised tardiness.

He finally approached his office, and noticed his door was ajar, allowing him to see that his Captain wasn’t alone. Speaking with him, was a hunched over man with a greasy ponytail and a silly little monocle. Nero’s arm burned in its sling, and he felt the sensation of it being covered in crawling insects.

“Are you certain you do not wish to take part in the Ascension Ritual? With the relic Lady Gloria has bequeathed us, we are on the cusp of a scientific revolution!”

Ah, Nero recognized him now Lord Agnus, the lead scientist of the Order, the one that a lot of recruits mocked for his speech patterns. He’d never actually met the man, and he was glad he hadn’t. Even without the feeling in his arm, there was something in the man’s demeanour that put him off, the slimy way he spoke, and his creepy smile. 

Obviously Credo felt the same, as he restrained a grimace as Agnus got uncomfortably close. “I am not comfortable with how much you’ve been pushing this ceremony on the higher ranks. Especially since you’ve involved Lady Gloria in this whole thing. She’s been here for only two months, and yet she’s been allowed access into our most sacred archives. Is it wise to trust a Mainlander with such valuable secrets?”

Ah, Lady Gloria. Nero hadn’t met her either, but her reputation definitely preceded her, if the comments by some of the knights commenting on her ‘assets’ was any indication. Women knights were rare, so no doubt she’d stand out among the mostly male armed forces. Nero idly mused on what sort of relic would be so valuable as to launch her, a woman, and a Mainlander to boot, to such high rank.

Credo noticed him through the crack in the door, and the look of relief on his face was palpable. “Come in!” he ordered, and Nero slipped into the room. “Lord Agnus, I must apologize, but I have an urgent private matter that requires my immediate attention, we will have to continue this discussion at another time.”

“O-of course,” the man was taken aback, but quickly regained his composure, “I will take my leave, but please, keep my proposal in mind… you would do your family name proud by joining.” And then the man began to leave, but paused as he passed Nero. Even though he couldn’t see him, he could feel his gaze piercing him. The crawling sensation in his arm was almost overwhelming.

“Ahhhh… you must be the young Master GILer.” He placed some extra emphasis on the first syllable, as if he was applying a thick layer of sarcasm. “I’ve heard many of your accomplishments in such a short amount of time. Captain Elesion, he would be a perfect candidate for the ceremony, perhaps I could pers-”

“That is enough, Lord Agnus, please leave. And close the door.” Nero swore he could hear the man mutter something, but he did as he was told, and the wooden door softly closed with a click.

Away from prying eyes, Credo sank his face into his hands, “The man will not stop pestering me about some arcane ritual that sounds incredibly dangerous. He may be one of our brightest minds, but his personality leaves a lot to be desired.” It was understood that nothing spoken within these walls was to be repeated outside.

“Surprised he doesn’t leave a trail of slime everywhere he goes” Nero joked, and Credo stood up, and took a deep breath as he looked out the window that overlooked the botanical gardens. 

His serious look on face caused a pool of dread to settle into Nero’s stomach.

“I called you in because of an issue that has been plaguing me, well two things, which may or may not be connected. He looked down at Nero’s sling, and the dread began to climb up his throat.

“Your injury and…” Credo looked distinctly uncomfortable, “your father.”

_ Fuck. _

This was it, Credo had somehow figured out what happened to his arm, and deduced the exact same thing he had. That he had demon blood, and he had informed V, who had probably revealed that he was adopted. Now he was about to be kicked out of the Order, ostracized, and if he was lucky, exiled from this island, if not just hunted down…

“Your father visited me a couple days ago, inquiring about you. I didn’t know you and him were not on speaking terms.”

Nero’s mouth felt dry. Was this a trap? Speaking the truth couldn’t hurt. 

“Yeah, we got into a bit of a verbal scuffle over me joining the Order. I just decided that he wasn’t worth my time if he wasn’t going to accept the way I wanted to live my life.”

“ _ Just _ a verbal scuffle?” Credo inquired, and Nero was perplexed.

“Yeah…?”

“Ah,” his friend turned from the window to face Nero, and his face was sombre, yet not hard. “Nero, you know you can trust me, nothing you say will make me think any less of you, correct?”

The dread in his stomach churned, but he hadn’t been expecting this turn of conversation. Was Credo trying to get him to confess?

“Your father spoke of an argument you and him had, but wouldn’t go into any details, and he mentioned nothing of you being injured. All he spoke of was his regret for driving you away. I told him I would pass on the message, but did not tell him how you were. Nero,” Credo placed his hand on his shoulder as a sign of support, “Was your injury due to your argument with your father?”

Nero blinked once, twice, then three times at the question, and the implication. V…  _ hurting him? _ The idea of the man harming him was hilarious, even if he wasn’t so frail. In all the years of memories the worst V had ever done was give him a sharp glare if he had been misbehaving. And while the man’s glares were as powerful as a bullet fired by Blue Rose, he was always firm and fair. Nero laughed at the thought, which apparently alarmed Credo.

“Oh god, no...you got it all wrong. This is just because I got into a scrap with a demon,” he hadn’t told Credo about the incident with Kyrie, she hadn’t wanted her brother to know and get overprotective of her. “My dad,” (and despite it being the first time he’d called V that since the revelation, it somehow felt good to call him that again) “he was pissed that I joined the Order, that’s all the fight was about.” 

He felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders, all his worries temporarily gone. He’d been worried over nothing. He still had some time to figure out his next step in his predicament. 

Credo still looked concerned, “Be that as it may, you do know that whatever happens, you are practically family to me, and, know that I have your back.”

“Thanks, Credo” Nero said, wondering if that went as far as covering for him when the eventual deception was revealed.

“Onto a much lighter subject, the Festival of the Sword begins tomorrow, you will be attending Kyrie’s performance, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” he chirped happily, and not just because he was looking forward to her entrancing voice, with his salary, he’d been scrimping and scraping, and now he’d finally been able to afford the necklace he’d seen in the shop window way before everything had gone to hell. He’d present it to her after her performance. Hopefully she would keep it after everything fell to pieces.

“And one other thing,” Credo said, and Nero froze. “I know it’s not my place, but at the very least, I think you should talk to your father. Perhaps you can reconcile with him, he seemed rather earnest. You never know what fate will bring for the both of you, and what regrets you will live with.” And with a salute, he dismissed Nero.

The door shut with the same click, and Nero stood outside, oblivious to the hustle and bustle as the Order prepared for tomorrow's celebrations. Credo did have a point. He of all people knew what it was like to lose nearly everyone he loved in a sudden instant. Nero looked down at his arm, still wrapped up in the bandages. This half-year silent treatment with V had to end, and the truth had to come out. If V rejected him because of it, well...good riddance. At least he had tried. 

Yeah, he thought, as he headed back to the barracks, his lonely home for the past six months, tomorrow, after the festival, he’d sit down with the man, and have a heart to heart talk. 

******

“Oh Nero, it’s-it’s beautiful!” Kyrie said, her eyes glimmering in the light of the cathedrals stained glass windows as he slowly, and awkwardly draped the chain around her neck with both his free, and encumbered hand.

In the background, His Holiness droned on and on about the “Power of the Saviour” and “How blessed Fortuna was to once ruled by him” and blah blah blah. But Nero didn’t couldn’t give a damn, all that was important was the beautiful woman in front of him, her smile the only thing that could outshine the glittering metal and jewelry.

“Well,” he said, “it was the only thing that I ever saw that could compare in beauty with you.” Oh god, what a horrible attempt at a romantic line, but Kyrie, the angel she was, blushed and smiled as she pulled him close.

  
  
“You know what I love most about it?” she whispered, “I love that it came from you, an-”

Nero suddenly couldn’t hear her, everything seemed muffled. He could see her lips moving, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Something else, some sort of static seemed to force out everything. His arm felt like it was on fire, and even though he couldn’t see it under the layers of fabric, somehow he knew the blue veins were pulsing red. He began to sweat. Was this a sign a demon was nearby? If it was, it was a complete idiot to attack the cathedral, filled to the brim with Order soldiers.

Now Kyrie could tell something was bothering him, and she shook his shoulder, and he could make out his name being mouthed.

And then, without warning, the muffled static was destroyed by the sound of shattering glass, and Nero instinctively pulled Kyrie down behind a pew. Sounds of gasps and screams filled the void of silence, and his head snapped to see what had caused the chaos. 

He caught a figure in red falling from the ceiling, the ancient stained glass falling down around them like confetti. They landed right in front of Sanctus, who had stopped his speech mid-sentence, and stared in shock. 

Before anyone could react, the man (was it really a man?) reached from his belt and pulled out a gun. With no fanfare, he pointed straight at His Holiness, and pulled the trigger.

Everyone else watched in horror as the kindly old man fell backwards limply, shot point blank in the forehead. 

But not Nero. Nero was focused on the man, this assassin who had pulled off such a brazen act. His red overcoat, his fingerless gloves. And as the man turned around, as if he just noticed he had a terrified audience of witnesses, Nero focused on a few things.

His pale skin,

His brilliant blue eyes.

And an memory was summoned from the back of his mind, a mental image of beautiful flowing handwriting, six words:

_ He has his father’s lovely hair _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Dante from Devil May Cry™!


	7. Just a Simple Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It would be easy,_ he'd thought.  
>  _Just go to this weird island and kill off their CEO/Pope, and be back home in time for pizza_ he'd thought.  
> Why couldn't things just be that simple?

Screams of the terrified populace echoed everywhere as Fortuna was beset on all sides by demons, almost overwhelming the city’s forces. What was supposed to be a celebratory festival had devolved into chaos, with overturned stalls, broken windows, and the injured, dying, and dead littered the cobblestone roads. Fortuna hadn’t been attacked like this in all but the eldest resident’s memories.

Seemingly oblivious to the panic, V strode, his mind focused on one thing. He had to find Nero. That earlier morning had been a fine one save for that ache, a pain of emptiness he had been enduring for the past half a year. He’d convinced himself that his son would come back, that he was just working out the last of his teenage rebelliousness. By the end of the summer, he would certainly come to his senses.

Summer came and went, and Nero did not return. V’s understanding and patience gave way to annoyance. His son was most likely waiting for his father to admit he was wrong, that the Order wasn’t the insidious institution he claimed it to be. And V, still ever proud, would not come crawling to his son, especially when he knew he was right. Not even with Griffon and Shadow practically screaming to get over his ‘goddamn ego’ (as the bird so elegantly put it) and just talk to his son. Nero was an adult now, surely he’d be able to handle the truth.

But V was still hesitant (not afraid, never afraid). Their relationship was practically non-existent at the moment, but still repairable, but could it withstand the revelation he had been hiding from him? The lies and half-lies he’d somehow kept balanced on his thin shoulders for nearly twenty years?

He knew his familiars had been out looking for his son. It was pretty much an open secret. V never asked them to, but didn’t disallow them. He could only deal with their continuous nagging about the situation for so long. 

“We found him…” Griffon had said one day, expecting V to inquire into his son’s well-being, but the man resisted. So he left the bird hanging, so to speak as he continued to write out an appraisal request form, pretending he hadn’t heard. Eventually, after several attempts to clear his throat went ignored, the bird had flown off, grumbling about ‘even ole’ Mundie wasn’t this behemoth headed’.

Winter came, and when Christmas arrived, V sat with a cup of hot cocoa, with a dollop of whipped cream on top, his son’s favourite, but still...nothing. The present he bought for his son lay still wrapped for several weeks, before he reluctantly placed it back into the closet. 

Nothing had ever broken Vergil’s determination. Not the sight of his mother’s lifeless body, not the decade long quest for mere survival, not his feelings for Hannah, not his brother’s outstretched hand, not even the torture at the hands of Mundus had ever cracked his resolve. But now? With nearly six months of no contact with his son? What father weak or strong could go that long in solitude?

But V hadn’t broken down just quite yet. He couldn’t go crawling to his son, he still had his pride and dignity. But he’d found a way to work around it, that kept his ego intact. He had gone to Credo, to inquire about his son’s progress. (yes, that was it, he just wanted to see how his son was doing, it was totally not about wanting his son back, safe). 

Credo’s chilly reception, and brusque answer threw him off, especially since it came from the usually respectful young man. It almost sounded like the Captain had been protecting his subordinate.  _ From him? _ It made no sense, and although Credo had agreed to pass on the message, V remained concerned. 

And now, as the city was overwhelmed by the horde, V moved quickly, not caring that he would be seen in the company of two demons, both of them lost in the battlefield that consisting of city streets. He didn’t doubt Nero’s capabilities in taking down these minor demons, (even he was able to take out a couple of scarecrows without the assistance of Shadow.) Honestly, these pathetic beings shouldn’t be a problem for Nero, but two things concerned V.

First: There were so many of them. Usually they could only pass through tiny cracks in the veil in small numbers, or in the wake of a higher level demon that had punched through, like remoras sticking to sharks. But according to Griffon, there weren’t any high level demons capable of such a feat nearby. Which led to the uncomfortable conclusion that there was an open tear that demons were pouring out of, and it needed to be shut as soon as possible. 

Secondly, and more worrisome, was the presence Griffon felt just prior to the attack. It was long gone now, the bird said, but it had been powerful...and familiar. “I can’t put a pinion feather on it, but it feels like I’ve met them before. Malphas? Nah, her aura is way more slimy. Goliath? Nah, smells too clean, although barely.” The two things MUST be connected, V concluded, and whatever was happening, he needed to find Nero, to assure himself that his son was safe.

In the distance, he saw the white outfit and the unmistakable red hair of Credo, along with the rest of his company escorting a group of frightened civilians to one of the shelters. Surely Nero was with him! But as his eyes scanned the group, all he saw what white hooded people, still dressed in their festival best. The only unhooded civilian was Kyrie, sticking close to her brother, a worried look on her face.

“Captain Credo!” He called out, using his cane to mask his hurried hobbling as he caught up with him. The young man slowed only a little bit, still focused on protecting his charges.

“Mr. Giler, I suggest you go back home, the streets are not safe.” he said, and as to prove his point he rushed and took down another scarecrow that shambled near.

“What happened?” V asked and caught Kyrie looking at her brother with concern.   
“His Holiness has been assassinated in the Cathedral”   
V nearly stumbled. Sure, he hadn’t particularly liked the old man, who symbolized the old ways that needed changing. But he had been respected by the populace, and V could not think of a single person who would wish to harm him. The man had one foot in the grave anyways, if someone was planning a coup, all they had to do was be patient.

“We’re not sure if it’s connected to this swarm of demons, but whatever is happening, my responsibility is to Fortuna and her people, so again, Mr. Giler,” his tone wasn’t as chilly as a few days ago, but still stern, “ _ Please _ return to your home. I don’t want to be the one to tell Nero his father got injured in this whole attack.”

V’s eyes went back to scan the little group. There was no Nero. He attempted to bottle down the panic.  _ Credo would tell me if something happened to him, wouldn’t he? _

The captain saw his (not frantic, frantic was a descriptor for a weaker person) look, and stopped and lowered his voice. “I-I felt it better to send him out of the city, on the trail of the assassin somewhere towards Fortuna Castle. Nero insisted he should go, despite the injury”

_ “Injury?”  _ he hissed. Nero shouldn’t be injured, or if he was, it shouldn’t be injured for long. Why had he not been told of this?

“You and I both know Nero would refuse being left in the barracks while the city was under attack, so it was the only way to keep him safe. Otherwise the civilians might confuse him for the assassin.”

Dread filled V’s chest. “The assassin looks like Nero?”  _ No, no no no _ … this couldn’t be happening.

“Well, the resemblance is uncanny, although the killer seems to prefer to wear red…” Credo trailed off as he saw V’s face. “Trust me, Nero nearly got the man, and I would trust no one else to do the job. Now…” he said, attempting to catch up with the group, “I can escort you back to your home if you-” But V was nowhere to be seen. 

“Woah whoa whoa, what happened to ‘He’s an adult, he can take care of himself’ spiel you kept telling us?” Griffon said as he flapped as V determedly made his way out of town. 

“This is different. Dante is here. And he knows about Nero.” The idea that his son, somehow injured, was attempting to face off against Dante chilled him to the bone. He needed to keep his boy away from Dante. Nero was strong, but V couldn’t risk it. Perhaps Dante had just been shocked by his appearance to put up a real fight, or worse, was just playing with his nephew, like a cat did with a mouse it was about to devour.

“We need to find him.” He pointed his cane to the road that led to the castle. It was quite a walk, but Nero’s safety was on the line. “Griffon, fly up high and try to locate either Nero, or Dante. You should be able to tell its Dante, if his flair for the flamboyant has not changed, Shadow,” the bird had already flown off without a witty remark. “I need you to track him by scent.”

******

_ It was supposed to be a simple job, _ Dante thought to himself as he stalked Fortuna Castle’s hallways, admiring the devastation that had been caused. Check out this crazy cult that supposedly worshipped his dad, and find out why they wanted so many Devil Arms. He sidestepped some broken glass, close to his destination. 

Of course, Trish had decided that there was more to the story, and went undercover, using the Sparda as her ticket to get in. It had worked, and deep inside Dante secretly regretted it. Because he’d been a whole lot happier not knowing about these whackadoodles and how far they’d go to obtain their goals. And he wouldn’t have felt compelled to stop them.

But the moment his foot stepped off the boat and onto the island, he heard her. 

_ Yamato _

It was a mournful broken wail, faint but steady, and he’d know it anywhere. Trish’s intel was right, the Order had been opening hellgates with his brother’s most treasured item. It was actually a relief that it was broken, imagine what trouble they could do with a reforged blade. That should have been the most surprising thing he had to deal with today. 

But nope.... That kid, the one people called Nero. Dante had been in denial, it couldn’t be, it was just some punk who dyed his hair platinum, and had a bum arm. But then he remembered he was somewhere so socially regressive, the Amish would think they were weird. And the bum arm? Not in the slightest, it had to be a partially developed Devil Trigger. At least that’s what it felt like when the kid had grabbed him with it.

He wanted to chalk it up to the kid being a distant relative, maybe his dad got busy while he was the ruler of this place. He tried to think that there was no possible way that his brother had come to this island over two decades ago to look at the huuuuge amount of ancient tomes they had about their dad. Because there was no fucking way that Vergil would ever seek information to become stronger….and no possible way he would knock up a chick and father a son that looked like his spitting image. It was a coincidence, that’s all it was. 

Two things had made him acknowledge the truth. 

First… the kid had impaled him with his own sword. It must be genetic, a rite of passage, like some weird version of ‘pin the tail on the donkey’. Except Dante was the ass. (Lady would have definitely agreed with that assessment)

And secondly, and most worrisome, the kid was a biter. He sorrowfully looked at the tooth marks on Ivory. No amount of polishing would get that mark out. Vergil had been just the same when they were kids, always biting when he thought he was losing a fight. 

As he admired the kids handiwork in the library, the corpse of a metal clad knight intrigued him. It hadn’t quite dissolved into ash, as it slumped against the wall. Just touching the metal gave Dante a bad taste in his mouth. ‘Angelos’ is what they were called, according to Trish. Soldiers consisting of a fusion of both human and demon souls, bound within a metal prison shaped like armour, completely loyal to their master. It stank of Mundus. Which made no sense, since Dante was 345% sure he knocked that asshole into near oblivion, and Trish had confidently agreed that there was none of her former master’s influence at play. But… still...how the hell did the Order get Yamato? 

Speaking of which… Yamato had ceased her mournful tune. He cocked his head to listen, but...there was nothing. Wait, no. He was wrong, he heard something, it sounded...joyful? Figuring that he’d wasted enough time puttering around, he needed to check it out.

What he found was shattered glass, destroyed walls, and the stench of demons. But no Yamato. Normally, he should have been worried, but the remnants of energy, like blue mist, the same shade as when Vergil would do a judgement cut. That was not possible in its current broken state...had Nero done something to it? Whatever had happened, he needed to find the kid, broken or not, Yamato was far too dangerous to leave in his hands, especially with the Order’s plans. A chill ran down Dante’s spine as he thought about it more. He’d been baited to come here, as a Son of Sparda for a plan that probably would have resulted in world domination. But if Nero was Vergil’s son.... The thought about the kid (his fucking nephew, he had to keep reminding himself), even if they hadn’t really started off on the right foot, being in danger made him sick.

An open door led to the outside, indicating which way he’d gone. Crunching over the broken glass, he made his way to it, only to stop halfway. Another presence, achingly familiar, yet faint seeped from behind a heavily reinforced locked door to his right. Dante’s mouth went dry. It couldn’t be, there was no fucking way it could be…...

The door was securely locked, but it wouldn’t be any trouble to a flurry of demonic punches and kicks, and it was cast aside like a sheet of paper.

And then he saw it...or rather  _ him.  _ His brother, or whatever was left of him. The armour clad hulk, was laying there on some sort of medical bed, tubes connecting to him like a coma patient. And considering how weak his aura was, he practically was. Dante had thought he’d mercy killed ( ~~_ murdered _ ~~ _ )  _ him all those years ago, but he appeared to be a failure even at that.  _ Of course, I couldn’t even get that right… _ And because he couldn’t even give his brother a peaceful end, he’d been suffering even more. It was bad enough that the Order had managed to get a hold of Yamato, by some nefarious means, but they had to desecrate his brother’s remains as well. Every time he’d encountered an Angelo, he’d had a bad feeling. The demonic technology was far too similar to that Mundus’s, but he’d thought (or was just to blind to see the truth) that maybe they’d found some old demonic research. But now...He’d been content just offing the leadership of this island, starting with that conniving old bastard, (and he thought he’d done a pretty good job of it, bullet straight through the skull in the middle of his sermon), and now seeing what they’d done to his brother, he felt the urge to just level the entire fucking island. Every single man, woman and child. Make them flee in terror at the son of the Saviour that they had supposedly revered.

But even in his rage, Dante clung on to one thing. The kid. Even if this fucking island was beyond salvation (and as he calmed down, he realized he could never do something like that, the softie he was) he couldn’t destroy the only home of his nephew (holy shit, he had a nephew, he still had to remind himself that). 

He swallowed, and pulled out Rebellion. This was his punishment, for not being there when his brother needed him most, on Mallet Island, in Hell, on Teni-mi-gru, the night of the fire. A reminder of his failures. But he could finish it for once. Give Vergil the rest he so desperately deserved. All it would take one final blow. 

And yet….he couldn’t.  _ Coward _ . A little voice in the back of the mind asked that maybe there was a way to get him back. That back on Mallet Island, Nelo...or rather Vergil had recognized him, had stayed his hand despite all the torment he’d been through. He had still been inside that cage, still fighting. Was there a chance to save him? His hand trembled on the hilt, and Rebellion wavered.  _ Not yet _ .

“So the rumours were true…” He didn’t bother even turning, he knew exactly who it was.

“Would have been nice to get a heads up, Trish. I don’t think I was cut out for so many life changing events in one day. Maybe space them out over the course of a decade or so.”

Trish did her best to remain calm and unoffended. “In my defence, the information about Nelo Ang-“

“Vergil.” His brother would have hated to be addressed by that false name.

“ _ Vergil _ was only known to the highest levels, and even bequeathing them the Sparda didn’t get access to that, I’d only known about Yamato…”

“And the kid?” Dante tried to not sound accusing. If he’d known his nephew (Oh god he couldn’t get over the fact that Vergil, stick up his ass Vergil, had actually gotten laid) had been in the audience, maybe he’d have gone about this whole job a bit differently.

“I honestly didn’t know about him, apparently he’s a new recruit, still low ranking to not be worthy of consideration. And the Order didn’t seem to see him as important, in fact, I don’t even think they know who he is…”

“But his demonic aura should have been loud enough to notice.”

“That's the thing,” she explained, “The boy is a void, he’s impossible to sense.” she pulled out a manilla folder and perused it. “The only two things I can think of is that he’s got some powerful witch with a shield spell, which seems unlikely, since Fortuna frowns on witches as much as they do bikinis, or…” She flipped open the folder to show him a picture of the kid, slightly younger, slightly less brash, “he’s got a magical artifact, such as that little amethyst ring that keeps him invisible to you and me.” Dante ripped the folder out of her hand and began looking at him. It was much easier to see the similarities between him and his father, seeing as in this picture, he was staying still and not trying to kick his ass. And the ring theory made sense; after all, he hadn’t even noticed his nephew until the kid’s boots made contact with his face. (He was certain that his jaw had been temporarily dislocated after that, if not actually broken). Which led to another issue. A powerful ring like that had undoubtedly saved the kid's life by protecting him, but something like that you couldn’t just buy at a pawn shop. Someone must have known the significance of it… He flipped through the kid’s file, but the dimness of the room made it hard to make out the text. 

“He’s definitely Vergil’s,” Trish said, “I’m not sure how he did it, but he managed to reforge Yamato. And you know she wouldn’t do that for anyone except for those connected to your brother.”

Great, he now HAD to confront the kid, for his own safety. As much as he was ecstatic that the Old Girl was back in one piece, if the Order found out… He snapped the folder closed. No doubt the kid would be making his way back to the Capital, and Dante knew there was one bottleneck he could get to, and hopefully get the katana back. But there was still one issue…

“Are you going to tell him?”

“No.” The answer was almost out of instinct.

“Why not? Nero’s a big boy, he can handle that he has a family.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll go down fine,” he answered sarcastically, “Hey there! Sorry we started on the wrong foot, but I’m your uncle! What’s that? Where’s your dad? Oh, I let him fall into Hell, where he got tortured and brainwashed, and then I killed him! Actually, I didn’t, and he’s been experimented on ever since! Whaddya say we go out for pizza?!”

“He still deserves the truth…”

“I know Trish, I know…” he sighed. He should be thrilled that after two decades, he had a living, breathing family member, but all he felt was dread. He couldn’t see the young man even wanting anything to do with him. He took another glance at the almost dead body of his brother. He should have known Vergil’s stubbornness wouldn’t just accept defeat like that.

“Do you…” he started hesitatingly, “do you think he’s aware?”

“Unlikely,” she responded, “it- I mean he’s probably gone into some self preservation dormancy, maybe to heal, but that could take years, or even decades, and he might not truly ever come back.” She looked at Vergil with uncharacteristic sadness, “Dante-” she hesitantly spoke “You don’t have to do it, I can-”

“Nope,” Dante cut her off abruptly, knowing exactly what she was suggesting “he’s my brother, my responsibility. But...not yet, not until we get this sorted out. I don’t know if Vergil knew he had a kid, or if he would even have cared,” he lied, as cold and ruthless as Vergil could be, he couldn’t see him abandoning his kid, “but at the very least the kid needs to be priority number one.”

He faked a smile at Trish as he left the room, file folder under his arm, forcing himself not to look back at the body, time was of the essence. He’d do everything in his power to bring him back, but if worse came to worst… there was a spot beside his mother he could be laid to rest. He deserved to be by her side at the very least.

_ It was supposed to be a simple job, why had it turned out to be the worst day of his life? _

He was right, he’d made it to the bottleneck before Nero had gotten there, if the lack of splattered demon guts was any indication. It was an old set of ruins, long abandoned, with weeds poking up between the tiles, and the statue of his father (seriously, they got him oh so wrong, like the sculptor had been told how Sparda looked in a game of Telephone). Even abandoned, travellers had been there, placing little candles and offerings at his feet by travellers and pilgrims, like he would have cared. Maybe if they’d left some chewy caramels, or replacement handkerchiefs for the ones he’d always misplace, they might have somehow made contact, but still unlikely. Unceremoniously, he pushed them aside, not caring about the broken glass that shattered, and sat, opening up the folder. 

_ Nero Adrien Giller, Née Scriba:  _ it said on the cover, along with his basic information. His birthdate, (Oh God, he’d been born a week before his father had fallen, if Vergil had known, would he have still…) An ID photo of his mother, (a pretty young thing, Dante thought, he could see what his brother saw in her), and her fate. (That was hard to read.... It seemed to be a family curse, except Nero would have it even worse, at least Dante HAD memories of his mother, his nephew would have none.) In the page where it required his father’s info, there was… nothing. The more he thought about it, the more concerned he became. The kid up until now, probably had nothing of Vergil. And now, Dante was going to yank away the only memento of his father’s, even if the kid didn’t know it at the time.

He sighed and looked up at the sky. The sun shone down, brightly, as if it didn’t give a shit about what he felt, not a single cloud. The only thing up there was a single solitary bird that circled around him like a vulture, before flying off.  _ Goddamn creepy omen. _

He turned another page, to see more info about the kid. Thankfully, it looked like he was happily adopted, by a guy ( _ V Giller? Who names their kid with a single letter?) _ that ran some sort of antique bookstore, (had he ever met the guy? The thin looking man with the limp shoulder length black hair and the piercing green eyes looked familiar, but he couldn’t recall anyone like that). The kid did well at school, with high marks in the sciences, while not so great in the language department. Joined the Order the moment he graduated, and was assigned as solo duty. A couple of commendations so far, which seemed impressive seeing as the kid had only been in there for less than a year. 

All in all, the kid seemed to be a well adjusted young adult, all things considered. Hell, he was doing better than Dante at the same age. He didn’t need the added complications of knowing his bloodline. But as he heard the sound of an engine revving through the forest, punctuated by gunshots, he realized he had to make a decision soon….

  
  


******

  
Nero finished off the last demon with a well placed shot from Blue Rose, and checked to make sure his equipment was still in tip top shape. His gun was fine, Red Queen had a little damage that could be worked on, and his arm… it was strange, considering his new appendage a part of him, as a helpful new piece of weaponry. It was stronger, had a reach radius he didn’t expect and now he found that it worked as a weird storage closet, allowing him to wield a whole bunch of stuff that gave him more power. And then there was Yamato…

_ Yamato…  _

He still didn’t know why he knew the name of this weird ass sword, but somehow, her (and the sword definitely was already a ‘she’, unlike Red Queen, who had her gender assigned to her) name felt right. It was almost like she had a presence, a comforting hum that made him feel warm and protected, as if she was trying to thank him. There had been a fallen stone pillar blocking his way back, and she’d somehow materialized in his arm, and with a power he didn’t understand, guided his arm into a swipe that cut the metre thick stone as if it was a piece of paper. It felt weird at first to have a companion like this, even if she was pretty helpful, but slowly he was becoming accustomed to her. He definitely wasn’t going to tell the Order about her.

Just thinking about the Order, his hand went to his stomach, to check it for the tenth time since he left the castle. Had it not been for the ragged hole in his shirt, and the stiff dried blood surrounding it, he might have thought that the whole impalement thing was a horrible nightmare. But somehow, he’d survived what should have been mortal injury, and inexplicably gotten stronger. Nothing made sense. Especially that whole thing that creep had said about Sanctus being reborn, and those Angelos, not to mention the whole ‘turning into a disgusting bug demon’ thing. He needed to get back to HQ, or more importantly, Credo. Something bad was going on, and Nero needed to get to the bottom of it. A little voice in the back of his head murmured that his dad’s gut feeling had been right, that the Order may not be what it seemed.

_ His father… _

The thought of his dad caused a flood of his emotions. He needed to talk to him, do the thing he should have done all those months ago. He really didn’t want to do it, but he owed him an apology. 

What was strange, was when he thought of the title of father, he didn't conjure an image of the guy in red that he looked like a spitting image of, it was the man with the overcoat and the silver cane, the one with the snarky bird and the snuggly cat. The one that fed him, clothed him, read him stories for bedtime, stayed with him until he calmed down after a nightmare. The man who looked on him with pride, that put his reputation on the line to save his friends, the man who...loved him.

His hand clenched on the hilt of Yamato as she cut through a thick vine. Sure, he had been adopted, sure, he hadn’t been told the truth, but didn’t he owe his father a chance to explain? Maybe his dad had a good reason, maybe to protect him from people who would probably judge him for being a bastard. Maybe he liked his mom, and wanted her son to have a good life?

Whatever his reason, his dad was DEFINITELY not the guy that capped his Holiness like he was some sort of circus act. His dad wasn’t the one who killed a bunch of soldiers, and desecrated a holy place and threw the whole city into chaos. He might not want to kill the guy, at least until he got some info out of him, but he definitely wanted to kick his ass.

Speak of the devil, his arm burned in fire at the thought, and his senses began to fuzz over. Dante, he was here. Strangely, Yamato buzzed in his hand as well. Okay, maybe stabbing the dude with his own sword didn’t work, but maybe  _ she  _ could get the job done. 

He was going to get some answers, one way or another.

“Heya kid!” the man said cheerfully, standing on the statue of the Saviour, as if he was a paper boy making his daily delivery to his doorstep. “I hoped to get to you before you made your way back. I don’t think it would be a good idea to step foot in the city right now, it’s like someone kicked a hornet’s there.”

Nero scowled. “Gee, I wonder whose fault THAT is”

Dante put his hands up defensively. “Oh you got that all wrong, that wasn’t me. Well, not the demon invasion part.” The smarmy bastard leapt down, and Nero couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Seriously, the last I want is MORE of those buggers crawling around. I get paid by the job, not by the amount of beasties I gotta kill. He stretched his arms and groaned. “If I had money to bet, I’d put it on your precious litter Order doing it, to terrorize the civilian population, and make them more dependent on upper management.”

What he said would have sounded preposterous a few hours ago, but Nero looked down at Yamato, and remembered what Agnus had said.  _ Using a powerful demon arm to open rifts to allow demons to flow through _ . And then there were those hellgates he’d seen on his trek to the castle. They looked like miniature versions of the big one in town, but he got a strange feeling from them, like they were pale imitations, almost...artificial. Could the Order, or some branch of the force have done such things? Agnus was obviously part of it, but how far did his machinations go? The Order would have never let this happen, would it?

Dante glanced down at the weapon in his hand, his smirk softening into something more enigmatic. Pride? Nostalgia? Regret?

“You did it, kid…” he murmured, almost to himself “Sorry to do this to you, but I need that sword back.”

Nero recoiled, and he swore the sword buzzed in anger.

“Uh, fuck that shit,” he swore, and pulled the blade protectively to himself.

Dante was insistent, “Look kid, that sword is a priceless family heirloom, and it belonged to…” he looked uncomfortable, “well it doesn’t matter anymore, the fact is, it’s gonna get you into trouble if you hold onto it.”

Nero snarled, “Well, your family should have taken better care of it, and besides,” the blade shonebrilliantly in the sun, “I think the rule is ‘Finder’s Keepers’”

The man’s smile practically vanished, but wasn’t replaced by anger, more like sorrow and regret. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he said pulling that demonic looking blade off his back, “but seriously, I need you to give it back, for your own good. After I solve the problem, I can give it back to you..”

“I thought you said it was a ‘priceless family heirloom’, and yet you’d just give it to someone you barely know? Why should I believe the guy who just kills people for no damn reason? What’s stopping you from killing me after you take it back?”

It looked like he actually hurt the guy, and Nero almost felt bad when he flinched.

“Look, I swear I won’t hurt you if you just hand it over.”

“Fuck you.”

The man muttered something about “If I had a dollar every time…” And in the blink of an eye, he almost teleported towards Nero, who used his arm to block, then push him back, before darting to the side, firing Blue Rose.

Dante laughed,  _ the guy had the audacity to laugh  _ as he deflected bullets like they were ping pong balls, and fired back a few shots, which Yamato, (not him, it felt like the sword moved of her own accord) deflected easily. He didn’t like the feeling of not being in control, so with a silent apology to the elegant weapon, he dematerialized her into his arm, and pulled out trusty Red Queen, managing to rev it up a bit before charging back in.

“Nice trick there with that arm of yours kid,” the bastard grinned as sparks flew from the grinding blades. “Gonna make me work to get it back, will ya?”

“You’ll have to rip my arm off first!” he grunted through gritted teeth.

Both men swung their swords and the dance of blades continued, but to Nero’s concern, he noticed that he was playing more and more on the defensive, and worse yet, he was getting tired. He had to do something, fast, or his exhaustion would cause him to make a fatal mistake.

He made a feint to the left, and then charged into his opponent, hoping his sudden move would throw the man off balance.

In retrospect, THAT was his fatal mistake, because Dante, either by impossibly quick reaction, or somehow reading his movements, managed to sidestep him, causing him to push into the air, losing his balance. The asshole decided that wasn’t enough, and gave him a push as he floundered past, launching him off his feet, and colliding with the base of the statue. He hissed as broken glass dug into flesh as he slid down to the ground.

“Sorry kid…” Dante said and he pulled out his pair of pistols, looking genuinely miserable, “I wish you had just made this easier.”

Nero closed his eyes, ready for the feeling of white hot pain as a pair of gunshots rang out, but instead, he felt nothing, and heard metal hitting metal, and then the skittering of metal on stone. Slowly, he opened his eyes, only to find the red figure of Dante blocked by another person, one dressed in an overcoat of black. It took him a second or two for it to register in his brain....

_ Dad? _

******

_ Welp, as if the job couldn’t get worse _ . He didn’t want to fight the kid, was hoping that he’d just give him Yamato, and Dante would have been true to his word, after he got rid of the corruption that infested this island, he’d give it back to the boy, he couldn’t see Yamato in better hands.

He should have known better than to be optimistic. Nero was just as stubborn as his dad, and wouldn’t let him have it, shoving it into that awesome looking arm. (Dante couldn’t wait to see what the kid’s full transformation would be like.) And so, he’d been forced to beat the kid into submission, maybe knock him out and somehow grab the Yamato (or drag the kid to somewhere he couldn’t get hurt by anyone else.)

But then… the kid’s dad had appeared, almost out of nowhere. And as much as he hated fighting his own nephew… He REALLY hated having to fight the kid’s normal human dad, especially one that looked like a strong gust could blow him over. Nero could take a bullet or two, the older man could not. Maybe he could use him as a hostage, to get Nero to release the sword, and hope the kid wouldn’t call his bluff.

“Rest Nero, I will not let him harm you.” And his eyes bore into Dante in a way that sent an uncomfortable chill up and down his spine. Something was terribly wrong.

“Of course you would come to claim what is not yours,  _ Dante _ ” The way he spat out the name unnerved him. How the hell did he know about Yamato? And how did he even know his name? The man didn’t seem to be affiliated with the Order, according to the folder, but that didn’t matter right now.

Okay, time to try diplomacy. “Look, just get your kid to give me the Yamato for a bit, and I’ll give it back when I’m done, and you’ll never have to see me ever again!” Man, it hurt to say that, but it was for the best, Dante had a tendency to bring the spectre of death wherever he went, Nero didn’t need to get involved in it.

The guy’s reaction surprised him “The...Yamato…?  _ Impossible...”  _ Wait, the guy didn’t know about the weapon? What was he talking about then? Nero? Wait...no...did he think that Dante was Nero’s dad?  _ I mean, technically being his dad’s identical twin makes me genetically his dad… _

“It doesn’t matter,” Dante’s thoughts were interrupted by the man’s voice, soft, yet full of rage. “I will not let you harm my son, nor my city.”

_ Yeah, who and whose army? _ He was about to quip, when the man shot out his arm dramatically, and a iridescent bundle of feathers landed on it.

“Awww yesss, this is a good day, first fighting demons, and now… a Son of Sparda? We’re gonna have a field day with this, aren’t we kitty?”

_ No...it couldn’t be...that bird was dead, he’d seen him be crushed by Mundus. _

A threatening growl, deep enough to rumble through his chest alerted him to who the bird was talking to, as a large black jaguar padded out from the shadows, her teeth bared in a threatening snarl, her crimson eyes fixed on him, her tail swishing about in agitation.

_ Oh this...this shouldn’t be happening. He already had enough reminders of Mallet Island today, he didn’t need this. _

He barely made out their master’s first command:  _ Pin him to the wall. _

Dante rarely swore, despite his rough personality. He’d joke, insult, yawn, and laugh, but never swear. It usually revealed that he was agitated, which an enemy could use to their advantage. But this time, he couldn’t help himself. 

“Fuckin’...goddamit...son of a bitch....” he hissed as he dodged lightening bolts, claws and teeth. These two appearing couldn’t be a coincidence. But how did they get attached to serve a nobody like Nero’s dad. The kid sat there, still dazed as he fought the three of them. Dante expected a giant spider to show up, but for once, mercy took pity on him, and did not introduce another creepy crawly from his past to beat him up. 

But what was more surprising, and more worrisome, was the way the guy moved. Far from being an invalid who just relied on his familiars and his cane, he was able, with a bit of aid, to zip across the rubble, just out of reach of Rebellion. His movements were efficient, calculated, and fluid… so much… No..it couldn't be. He was lying on a hospital bed, waiting for his brother to fail him yet again.

_ And yet… _

Finally, he was able to shoot down the bird, whose final words were “Awww come on….” before coalescing into a shiny glass orb. He took the chance to get close to the man, who didn’t have the bird to get him out of the way, and got pretty close, before the damn cat spirited him away. 

“You’ve got some good moves Mr. Giller” he snarked, “I can see where your kid gets it from.”

“It’s GIL-er” the man corrected with irritation, before muttering, almost out of breath “If it wasn’t for the fact everyone mispronounces it, I’d say he was doing it on purpose.”

Despite the rush of adrenaline of battle, and what Lady would protest, Dante’s mind could multi-task while fighting. Which made the next realization nearly instantaneous.

The guy’s name was: V Giler

_ Rearrange the last five letters, shove the I and the L to the back, and bring the E and R to the front...shove the G into the middle. _

_ Son of a bitch _

_ Vergil. _

The realization hit him with the force of a freight train, no a dozen trains, no...a thousa-

Actually, it hit him with the force of a snarling shape shifting blob of claws and teeth as the demonic cat plowed into him, cutting deep into his chest. Hissing in pain he backed off, and pulled out Ebony, and fired at the cat, mid pounce. It mewled in pain and now it too had collapsed into a giant demonic marble. Now to finish this… 

Pulling out Rebellion, he sped over to the man (who couldn’t possibly be his brother…. what a preposterous idea) who raised up his cane to deflect Rebellion’s blade. But Dante was tricky, and at the last second tossed her to his other hand, leaving his right free to give a strong (but not crippling) gut punch. Sure, it was a cheap move, but it was the only way he could think to take him out without snapping a limb.

It worked, if the pained gasp and the stumbling backwards until he lost his footing and tumbled backwards indicated anything. As for the next step, using him as a hostage. He placed Rebellion back and approached the coughing and spluttering man.

**“DAD!”**

A flash of white, and the man in black was shielded by Nero, who hugged him, both as a way to shield his father from Dante, and to show his love for him. Ver-no, it was V’s- eyes widened in shock, before they slowly closed as he tentatively wrapped his arm around his son. The love between father and son… it was so genuine in that moment, to the point Dante thought maybe...it wasn’t between a man and his adoptive son...it was based on blood.

He stepped forward, still trying to figure out a way to get the Yamato back.

V’s eyes snapped open and stared at Dante, and a flash of blue lit up the rocks for an instant. The next thing Dante knew, there was a sharp pain in his shoulder, like he’d been shot. He looked down and his draw dropped. Instead of a bullet wound, there was a blade. Not just any blade, but a blue spectral one..one that resembled Force Edge. It was weak, and flickered quickly into mist, but it was unmistakable. And only one person could summon a blade of that colour and shape.

And as he stood there in shock, to watch both father and son continue their embrace, all he could think was...

_ It was just supposed to be a simple job. _


	8. A Heartwarming Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family reformed....but will it be as fleeting as the previous time?

Nero didn’t care if his back was to the guy trying to kill him, he wasn’t going to let his dad go. His father’s breath comes with a hint of a whimper of pain from that gut punch. He waited for a click of a pistol, signaling the end. Maybe the sound of a blade cutting the air. But nothing… Wait, there was something, heavy breathing, and a sound of metal of hitting rock, clattering on the ground.

“Vergil?” The voice had lost its swagger, almost sounded like a frightened little child. He turned his head slightly. 

Dante stood there, his arms just dangling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. At his feet lay his sword, totally forgotten. Nero had the sneaking suspicion that if he unloaded Blue Rose at him, the man wouldn’t have even attempted to dodge. But he didn’t take the chance, just looking at Dante’s face worried him. The blood had drained from his face, and he looked impossibly pale, like a corpse. Or one who had seen a corpse.

“Vergil?” he repeated, and he swallowed, “That’s.... Ridiculous. You can’t be…”

“Believe what you must to keep your remaining dignity, _little brother.”_

Nero’s heart skipped a beat, he must have misheard his father.

“No… You’re dead....”

He felt his dad's hands press on his shoulders as the man slowly used him as support to stand up, still wheezing from the blow he had taken. “You’re mistaken, but I can see how you came to that conclusion, after all the last time we came face to face was-”

“Mallet Island” Dante said dully.

“Pardon?”

“You don’t remember? Mallet Island. Over ten years ago when I thought I killed you, although...” Dante got a tiny sliver of previous smile back, “You were a lot bigger. And more armoured”

Okay, now this conversation was getting weird. Apparently there was some blood, both bad, and the family type? He quickly handed his dad the silver cane that lay among the rubble. 

“More armoured?” now it was his father’s turn to be surprised and shocked. “I’ve never been to a place called ‘Mallet Island’, nor have I ever worn armour…” he trailed off, and his hand clenched tightly onto the handle as he nearly wobbled. Nero resisted the urge to grab him, his dad hated looking like he had to rely on his son.

 _“Nelo Angelo”_ he whispered, a phrase that made no sense to Nero, but it obviously did to his dad, if the way he paled, almost to the same shade as Dante.

“So you remember…” the other man murmured

V regained some of his former confidence “I remember that pale mockery of myself,” he said, “but not his defeat or death. By that time both of us...” he chuckled, “must have had gone our separate ways”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

Nero was finally able to find his voice.  
“What the hell is going on?”

His dad looked at him sorrowfully, looking like he had wronged him.

“Nero… there is much I have kept hidden from you, in the mistaken belief that I was protecting you. And by the time I realized I was making everything worse, it was too late.”

“Like I’m adopted!?” Nero’s pent up rage slipped through, and his father flinched.

“Yes, that. But it is far more complicated than it seems. I-“

“You didn’t think I could handle the truth!” He gritted his teeth.

V, placed a shaky hand on his shoulder. “Your father- your birth father… I am half the man he was, quite literally.”

To this, his only response was to have his jaw drop open. Nothing in that sentence made any sense.

Taking a deep breath, his father continued as if being pushed by some water from the invisible dam he had just cracked.

“The Order teaches that Sparda saved the world from the Demon Lord Mundus, correct?”

Nero numbly nodded. Where was his dad going with this?

“The Order then says that after he ruled this island, he ascended to become Divine. But.. the truth is much more interesting. He ascended, but not to Divinity…. but Humanity. 

Nero had heard of said ‘heresies’, often spoken in hushed whispers in the lower quarters of the city. He’d never really been zealous on rooting out ‘sacrilegious’ teachings, preferring to focus on hunting demons. But it felt strange to think his father was interested in this.

“He settled down, and wed a human woman who bore him twin boys.”

“The younger one was the handsome one,” Dante quipped, earning a glare from his father.

“Unfortunately he vanished, and without his protection, his wife and children were easy prey for Mundus’s minions. And In the attack both sons lost their mother, and were separated for a decade.”

Nero felt chills up his spine. V’s family history, while shrouded in mystery, did seem to resemble this.

“And while both tried to survive, they chose differing, conflicting paths. The eldest, wishing to never be hurt again, chose the path of seeking power, that he would be able to protect himself and all who he cared for. And in doing so, he pushed too far, and fell into Hell, thinking he could claim his Father’s birthright there. His folly cost him nearly everything, as he was captured and tormented by Mundus. But… the God-Emperor made a mistake…” and a skull like grin grew on his face, “He used the broken blade that had accompanied the proud and stubborn Son of Sparda everywhere, the one that could cut through anything, and carved out that little scrap of flesh, the part that still resisted him…. his humanity.

“And with the help of some really helpful and generous demons who totally had only the most selfless intentions in their big demony hearts, that skinny ass piece of humanity managed to clamber out of Hell, and somehow found out he fathered a kid.”

All three of them swung to look at the newly reformed Griffon, who preened nonchalantly, before looking at them. “What? I’m just happy your dad is FINALLY telling the truth. Good God, it’s about bloody time, ain’t that right, kitty?” He looked back to where Shadow ought to be, but she was still working on reforming into a coherent shape. “Well, I know she’d agree with me. So, V buddy, are we ready to beat his ass again?”

“Wait!” Nero said, running between the bird and Dante, his hunger for battle completely smothered. He needed time to process this, as he turned to his father. “So...you’re...you’re really my dad?”  
His father took a deep breath, and leaned on his cave. “A pale imitation of him, but yes.”

“Definitely better than the other half,” muttered Dante, catching the attention of both men and demons. “Nelo might have been strong, but he had a lousy sense of humour.”  
“WHO THE HELL IS NELO?!” Nero yelled, feeling like the conversation was going over his head.

“Nelo Angelo, what was left when I was cut out. If I am just Vergil’s weak and feeble humanity, he would be the demonic half, strong and-”

“Completely dumb. Nidhogg was a genius compared to him.” Griffon crowed, and even Shadow seemed to huff in laughter.

“He’s still around.” Dante responded seriously, cutting off their laughter.

“Wait, that makes no sense,” V said with a frown, “you said you killed him.”  
“I thought I did, but…” he kicked the ground. “Your demonic half is apparently as stubborn as you.” Dante lowered his voice. “You want to know why I’m here, why I capped the old man? The entire leadership of the Order is as rotten as eight day old pizza, focused on obtaining all sorts of demonic power, even somehow managing to slip through the veil to retrieve some remarkably powerful artifacts, somehow getting a hold of your barely alive demonic ass. 

“WAIT WHAT?” Griffon said, nearly falling off the crumbling pillar. 

“Yup, they’re using YOUR body as a template for some demonically infused army”

This made no sense. All these revelations were too much for him, and he slowly rubbed his forehead, hoping to stave away the impending headache.

A gasp from his father made him realize he was using his right arm, the one that was that had changed. Out of instinct, he began to shove it behind his back. Even with everything he had just found out about himself, his family...old prejudices were hard to shake.

“Is that…” his father grabbed his arm, quicker than he could pull back, and firmly, yet gently gripped his wrist as he examined his scales. His eyes weren’t full of judgement, or disgust, as Nero had feared, but amazement, and perhaps even admiration.

“Magnificent,” he murmured, “The bloodline runs true in you…” Nero still had to process that everything he’d been taught (or rather encouraged by the island) to believe was both true...and not so true. His grandfather, the one his dad occasionally spoke about, the one he inherited his unique hair colour from? Was Sparda? It all seemed to be too much to think right now…

“If the Order is truly planning something this momentous, we must get back to the capital as soon as possible. I am not sure if you have any future plans other than causing chaos, Dante, but time is of the essence. The Order will not collapse with the death of one man.”

******

“Of course you would own a bookstore,” Dante griped as he flipped through one of the hardcovers, before V yanked it out of his hand.

“And of course you would not appreciate literature, you have not changed a bit,” he grumbled as he gently placed the valuable book back on the shelf.

“Look, I’m a simple man, the only time I read stuff without pictures is to fall asleep.”  
“Like I said, no change at all.”

“Well someone has to be the stable twin!” he argued back, “Last time I saw you, you had gone full weeaboo, and now you’ve gone full emo!”

“And you are still running a half broke business, that probably contains the stench of stale pizza” V shot back, pausing before speaking under his breath, most likely to himself, “What is a ‘Weeaboo’ and an ‘Emo’?”

Nero tried to ignore their bickering downstairs as he washed up and put on a clean shirt, one without a bloody hole in it. Apparently he had grown out since he joined the Order, as this shirt was a bit tight around the chest, but still wearable. The most irritating problem was him putting his scaly arm through the sleeve.

“Are they still at it?” Griffon grumbled as he perched on the top of the mirror. “I’m starting to feel a little bit jealous, now that he’s chosen to bicker with him, instead of me”

“Were they always like this?”  
“Dunno,” the bird cocked his head in the approximation of a shrug. “I wasn’t around for that, I’ve only been stuck with your dad since around when you were born, me and Kitty are basically the reason your dad is still alive. Without our demonic power, he would have crumbled into ash ages ago.”

“So...you’re not…” Nero said, trying not to take out his hurt on them. The two of them didn’t deserve his anger. “You’re not familiars that my grandmother conjured up?”

“‘Fraid not,” Griffon admitted, Shadow rubbed her head against Nero’s hip, as he idly scratched her head, “A bit of white lie if your dad told you. I really was hoping he’d tell you the truth when you were old enough...but… well…” he ruffled his feathers awkwardly, “You know how stubborn he can be.” He flew down to the floor, and began talking to his reflection. “Look at you, you’re supposed to be a demon, the embodiment of Sin, and now you’re advocating for truth. Next thing you’ll be doing is sacrificing yourself ‘for the greater good’ or some goody two shoes shit. Ole’ Mundie would be disgusted with you”.

“But I think Sparda would be proud of you…” Nero spoke up as he patted the bird’s head. “It’s nice to see that the Saviour wasn’t the only demon who changed sides. Griffon scoffed, “Even if we ever get to go back to the Underworld, we’d never be taken seriously ever again, Kitty. Our reputations are ruined!”

Nero smiled, “Well, at least you have us in the Human world, right?” 

A small cackle, “I guess you have a point, let's get back downstairs before Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb start fighting again.”

Nero slung his coat over his shoulder before leaving the room, but paused at the entrance of his father’s office. The picture of his mother still stood there, in the silver frame, still smiling. He picked it up, letting his fingers stroke the glass as he sadly smiled at her. “I’m sorry mom,” he said “I thought…”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” his father’s voice came from behind him. “The fault lies with me. I…” he paused as he looked down at the smiling woman. “I did not know she was pregnant with you when I left her, and I know she would have told me if she was aware... and…” he stopped. “Would I have stayed? It is easy to say in hindsight, to say that I would have, I could have protected her, saved the both of us. But…” he spoke. “I was a colder, harder man then, a man who thought attachments were weaknesses.” He leaned heavily on his cane.

“Well, I can’t say I knew her very well, being just a baby at the time, but I think she’d be proud of you, for doing what you could afterwards. You could have just walked away, focussed on just yourself. But,” he put his demonic hand hand, pulsing gently blue on his father’s thin shoulder, “Once we get to the bottom of this whole Order thing, you owe me the truth. All. Of. It. No more lies, no more half truths.”

“Agreed,” his dad said remarkably quickly, before glancing down at hand. “Dante says you are hiding Yamato in there. May I,” he hesitated, “may I see her?”

Nero really didn’t know how it worked, but he rolled his shoulder slightly, and with a shimmering sound, the sword materialized in his hand, beautiful and whole, like she’d never ever been shattered.”

“Beautiful”… his father whispered, and his hand went out to reach it, before yanking his hand away, like he’d been shocked.

“Do you want her back? After all, she was yours to begin with.”

He might as well have offered his father a porno magazine, if the way the man flinched away indicated anything.  
“No…” he looked sadly at his old weapon, “I have no right to claim her, I abandoned her all those years ago, rewarding her loyalty with cruelty. She has chosen you, not me.”

The sound of huffing and clomping boots up the stairs broke their conversation, as Dante nearly ran into the room.

“Uh… we got a visitor knocking on the door, don’t know who he is, but he’s got an Order uniform, and a goatee that could stab someone in the eye.”

“Credo!” Nero hissed, and running our of the room, and sliding down the banister. This was working out better than he thought. Sure, he couldn’t just say _‘Hey, you know Sparda, the guy that everyone on this island worships? Turns out he’s my grandpa. Also, the Order is doing something incredibly shitty, and you ought to get out of there’_ but with time, he could convince his superior.

To say Credo was surprised to see him was an understatement. After all, he was supposed to be on the trail of a notorious assassin, not lounging in his father’s house. (although, to be fair technically he was hot on his trail, the man was just upstairs, and he prayed he’d resist the urge to make an appearance.)

“Nero…” the way Credo looked seemed a bit off, his uniform was a bit unkempt, and although hard to tell by anyone who didn’t know him like Nero, there was a tremor in the way he moved.

“Hey!” Nero already began spinning his tale on the fly, “I got into a bit of a tussle in Mitis forest, so I came back here to get patched up.” Not a lie...kind of.

“I had expected to talk to your father,” he nodded to V as the man followed behind Nero, “A lot has happened since you left.”

“Looks like you got rid of a lot of the demons, well…” he could hear the squawk of a pyrobat in the distance, “most of them.”

“That’s actually the least of our problems,” Credo said, not sharing his amusement with the situation. “How should I put this…” he scratched his beard. “His Holiness just made an appearance to the people, to assure them that he has made a full recovery.”

“What?” Nero had almost fallen on his ass with this revelation. “I saw him get shot, YOU saw him get shot! There’s no way he’d survive something like that, let alone be able to stand in less than a day! Maybe it’s a doppleganger? He has a secret identical twin we didn’t know about?” 

“That’s what I thought as well, for as much as I admired the man, he was merely human, but Lord Agnus has assured him he is one and the same, reborn and healed by the Ascension Ceremony he had been pressuring me to participate in. And because of my refusal to undergo it, I’m no longer allowed to even get near Sanctus, only trusted Angelo Knights are permitted at his side. My first assumption it was a political coup by Lord Agnus, but he’s never done something remotely this brazen, he usually keeps to himself and his experiments.”

Nero felt coldness seep through his body. The creepy man had said something along those lines, and Nero had just shrugged it off as some hyperbolic metaphor. But now? With the revelations that Dante had revealed? And if Credo had spoken to Agnus, had the guy told him about….”

“That’s not the most alarming part.” the Captain continued, “They want to speak with you. Personally.” his brow furrowed, “I told Lord Agnus that you had nothing to with the assasination, just that you have a resemblance to the man, but he insists…'' he shuffled from foot to foot. “So insistent, that he has Kyrie in custody, claiming it’s for her own protection, but I know what he really means, a hostage, and an incentive for you to turn yourself in. I don’t know what is going on, but I can’-” he never got to finish his sentence, because Nero wasn’t there, pushing him aside and already sprinting to the centre of the city, determined to rescue Kyrie. If they harmed a hair on her head he’d...well, he’d show them what a devil could do…

So intent on his destination, he didn’t hear his father call his name.

*******

Shadow sorrowfully placed the strip of ripped cloth in V’s hands, the only thing she had been able to bring back. She’d tried her hardest to pull Nero out of the statue that had been slowly absorbing him, but even if she’d been able to drag him out, he would have dove right back in, just to save his girlfriend. It was just in Nero’s character to do something like this, so unlike his father. It had been a perfectly laid trap. V’s fingers stroked the fabric before clenching it in his fist. It was getting hard to breathe, and he fell to his knees, and he ignored, or couldn’t feel the pain upon impact.

He’d always been distrustful of the Order, but even in his darkest bouts of paranoia, he’d never thought that they’d stoop so low. In a blink of an eye, they’d stolen everything from him, his future daughter in law, his oldest friend, and most of all, his son. He felt cold and empty.

“Well….Shit.” Dante’s voice came from behind him, too nonchalantly for the situation. “Trish said something about the Order needing a Son of Sparda for something secretive, but ‘battery for a giant statue?’ I didn’t expect that. Sounds like something from one of those mecha shows you and I used to watch when we were kids.” An uncomfortable pause followed, and he heard his brother's boots stop behind him, “Uh….Verg, are you okay?”

 **“YOU!”** he hissed as he swung around to face the one he had once shared a womb with, the one he had once thought he could trust, all those years ago. “THIS IS ALL YOUR DOING!” He swung his cane at his brother, and hit him in the side of the temple. 

**THWACK!**

“IF YOU HADN’T SHOWN UP!”  
 **THWACK!**

“AND PULLED THAT ABSOLUTELY-”

**THWACK!**

“STUPID AND RECKLESS STUNT!”

**THWACK!**

“MY SON WOULD BE…. _my son would be_ …” The cane clattered to the ground as he began to collapse again. Despite his rage, Dante should have been able to dodge, if not the first blow, most certainly the following ones. And yet his brother took his beating, not moving until Vergil began falling forward, only then catching the exhausted man. V didn’t seem to have the strength to push him away, and so he gave up and let his younger brother hold him.

 _“I’m sorry…”_ he heard him whisper, _“You always told me as a kid that I acted without thinking…I guess you were right. I just wish it was just me paying the price.”_ There was something in Dante’s voice that sounded so broken, so emotionally exhausted, that the inferno of rage in V quickly flickered out.

What replaced it was guilt. It hadn’t been Dante’s fault, it was his own. If he’d told Nero the truth earlier, had investigated the Order more thoroughly, hell, fled the island the moment he left the orphanage with Nero in his arms. _If he had stayed with her…_ **_If he had just been stronger._ **

**  
**_We cannot foresee the future, nor can we change the past...all we can do is choose what we do in the present._

His own words drifted back to him, plucking him from the whirlpool of grief that was threatening to suck him under. He needed to focus, not on his own failings, or his fear of what would happen, but on what was most important: saving both Kyrie and Nero. Allowing his brother to help him stand on his own, and Credo handing his cane to him, he straightened and tried to pretend that he was collapsing on the inside.

“There must be a way to get them out!” Credo said, grief evident on his face.  
Griffon shook his head, “There’s no way! Even Kitty’s claws didn’t even leave a mark on that damn statue, and V, you know her, she eats scratching posts for breakfast!” Shadow seemingly growled out a begrudging agreement.

“I knew that there was something off about that statue,” Credo murmured, “but to think of what they were planning to do…That’s not what the Order was made for, that’s not why I joined...that’s not what my father lived and died for…” He looked so distraught, he didn’t seem to care that there were two demons standing right in front of him. 

“There may be one thing that can cut them out…” V volunteered, and all of them looked at him with interest. “Yamato.”

“The Sacred Blade, Right Hand of the Savior?” Credo asked incredulously, “Wait, you’re speaking of the sword that Agnus took from Nero? How in the nine circles of Hell was your son able to wield such a powerful relic?”

“No time for questions, soldier boy! They need to keep Nero alive in that thing to keep it running, but the sooner we get loverboy and his girlfriend out, the better.”

“They’re probably using it to open up the giant Hellgate in the centre of town,” Dante said, “Not sure why dad thought it was a good idea to leave it just standing there,” he added under his breath. “Maybe that’s where I get my penchant for impulsive stupid ideas from.”

“We ought to split up, we can cover more territory.” He turned to his brother, “You can shut down those smaller artificial hells gates,” Dante gave a cheerful salute in acknowledgment “Credo, you’re the highest ranking member of the Order I can trust, the people of the City look to you for guidance, you must find a way to keep them calm, to protect them, and to turn them from the lies of this So-Called-Saviour.” 

Credo looked a bit overwhelmed with the responsibility, and Dante chipped in. “Don’t worry, I got someone who can help you out on that front. Gloria’s a bit intimidating, but she has a good heart.”

“Wait...Lady Gloria is one of your-”  
“Yup, how do you think I knew what your Order was planning for the most part?”

Credo sighed. “Why do I feel like I am the last to know about everything?!”  
“Well, maybe if you had accepted that promotion for Supreme General earlier…”

“HOW DID SHE KNOW ABOUT THAT!? IT WAS CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION!”

“ENOUGH!” V shouted over both of them, slamming his cane down with as much force as he could muster. “The longer we stand there bickering, the more dangerous the situation will become. While you two focus on your duties, I’ll take care of the most important one, finding Yamato.”

“Are you certain that’s wise? No insult, but Agnus will most likely be protecting it, along with whatever those Angelos are.” Credo asked, obviously concerned.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep Papa Twiggy safe! Now let’s go save the day!” Griffon crowed and launched into the sky. Dante gave a grin, and quick as a flash he was gone.”

“You don’t seem to be alarmed about my companions, Credo” V remarked as he scratched Shadow’s muzzle.

“I’ve known for quite some time, although I cannot remember where I found it.” the young man revealed, shocking V. “Somewhere in the files of the Order, but I thought nothing of it. After all, you were a friend of my family, saved my sister, and helped us in our darkest hour, a man who did that could not truly be as devious as I’ve heard some summoners have been. Besides,” he said, frowning” even if I was against you for it, there are much more important things we need to focus on, correct?” 

“Yes… yes, of course” he answered as both of them made their way back to the city centre. “Now to do as Griffon says, and ‘Save the Day’”

******

Despite the ‘Saviour’ annihilating many of the demons that spewed forth from the looming hellgate, the Opera house was still chock full of them, but of a different breed, if Griffon’s senses were right.

“They feel just as wonky and fake as a polyester business suit!” Griffon yelled as he zapped what seemed like a flying sword. “Cuz I don’t remember these guys in Hell, unless they were stuck in the circle of Hell for demons that were guilty of the sin of tackiness!” he dodged an Angelo, who while trying to recover, was shredded to bits by Shadow. “You sure the sword’s close?”

Even in his diminished state, he could feel her calling further inside, and the increasing amounts of these abominations with every step he took suggested that it was true. V hadn’t mentioned it to the other two men, not even to Griffon, but he wasn’t sure if she would even permit him to hold her, even to save his son. But he kept these worries to himself, he just needed to get to her first.

They made their way to the theatre, and Griffon paused. “Woah there V, I’m getting MAJOR TACKY alert here. Looks like we’re gonna face off against something big.

“Ah...Welcome Mr. GILer” a voice rang out, the theatre’s acoustics amplifying it. “I must say, despite keeping that little treasure of a boy away from us. You could have joined us in our righteous crusade, bringing the true power of the Saviour to the world, ridding the world of the unworthy. But alas,” and V could see him standing on the stage, lit up with spotlights, holding up a papier mache (At least V hoped it was fake, when the man crushed it in his hand unnerved him) skull, looking for all the world like a deranged Hamlet, “you wished to keep that power all to yourself.”

V was indignant. Him? Using his son for power? Even when he was a stupid young man, he wouldn’t even have thought of using his son for such a thing. (Dante on the other hand, well Arkham poisoned words might have convinced him).

“At least my observations of you with your demonic companions for the past decade has revealed a way of controlling them. So, I suppose I must thank you for that. But I have a feeling that you’re not here to chat about the latest in our discoveries, your here for… _YAMATO!_

The scientist disappeared in a cloud of scaly feathers and in his place, a disgusting creature emerged, looking like a malformed locust. It was if the man was trying to copy both the human and demonic forms of his father, with the monocle and the insect body, and failing miserably.

“That’s...that’s just gross,” Griffon grimaced, “worse than the time I saw a Chronoskolex regurgitate an Empusa Queen.”

V ignored him, and began to assess the cavernous room. Demons of many forms clambered over cushioned chairs, sliced through the curtains of the stage. There were many of them, but if V was careful and deliberate, and Griffon didn’t act too hot-headed, they could pull this off. V wanted nothing to make his death as slow and as painful as possible, but the safety of his son came before everything.

“Get out of my way…” he growled. “Or pay the price with your life.”

The sound of air whistling was his first warning that the battle had commenced, and Shadow pulled him aside as a sentient blade imbedded in the wooden banister. 

“OKAY IT’S ON, NO ONE BEATS UP ON V, EXCEPT ME!” Griffon screeched, and let out a powerful bolt, that chained from one demon, to another, to yet another, downing them all at the same time, then going straight for the scientist. Unfortunately Agnus was able to teleport away.  
“A pity you’ve been chained and forced to serve such a weak, useless human.” Agnus taunted, “doesn’t it gall you that for all your power, you will never be able to reach your full potential?”  
“SERVE!?” Griffon yelled out with all the indignation of an elderly matron seeing a woman with a short skirt, “I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT V IS MY FRIEND!,” he lifted V up, avoiding an Angelo thrust, “And even if he wasn’t, I’d still be kicking your ass to save the kid.” he electrocuted the suit of armour, “And even if I didn’t like Nero, I’d still fry your ass because you’re an ugly son of a bitch. AND I’M GONNA EAT YOUR EYEBALLS!” 

Shadow roared in agreement so loud, the Opera chandelier crystals began to shatter, raining down shiny shards, and V’s chest thudded. Not from the rumbling, but something deeper, a warm comfort. That a deal made out of desperation, had evolved to a partnership, had now flowered into something far more sturdy and priceless. A friendship.

But despite their efforts, two demons facing off against dozens upon dozens of swarming devils were wearing them down. Shadow, while ripping the throat out of an Angelo, got slammed in the side by a Gladius, and with a pained grown, collapsed into a dormant orb.  
“Look, I say this as a friend, and not because I’m looking out for my own beak,” Griffon said, clearly out of breath from his exertions, “But you might want to retreat, we can’t save the kid if you’re dead. Discretion is the better part of-”

He didn’t get to finish, as a cutlass sliced through him, and with a faint “ _Sorry”_ the bird vanished. Now V was on his own, with still too many demons flying around.

“Pathetic” Agnus laughed, the chitinous distortion in his voice grating on V’s nerves. “A weak human like you can only control two demons, while I can command countless hordes of them. Such a pity…”

V despaired for a moment. Agnus was right, without his two demons, he was nothing. 

_Wait…_

_His_ **_TWO_ ** _demons?_

He grinned, and stood up, in clear view of the monster and his minions. “Is it power you truly crave, Lord Agnus? Then let me show you it.” And using the snap of his fingers as a focus, he drew out the demonic essence that made up the bedrock of his very being. It was excruciating, like he was leaching the calcium out of his bones, and the energy coalesced into a rapidly growing blob of squirming sludge, in a vaguely humanoid shape. V only kept himself upright out of awe of the creature, that wiped out a dozen demons with a single swipe.

“ _Nightmare….finish him”_

A purple orb emerged from the ‘head’ of the swirling goop, and after centring on the locust, it began to glow.

“What in the…” Agnus never managed to finish, as a blinding beam of demonic energy shot out, like a kill sat from a spy movie, disintegrating everything in its path. That included the monster, who was able to utter a far too short shriek before vanishing into dust.

Whatever Nightmare had done, it was too much for the demon, and the entity began to melt into an inert puddle of goo, never to rise again. Out of danger, V couldn’t help himself, and collapsed from the agony, losing consciousness.

“V buddy! You gotta get up! You can’t just drop dead now!” he heard the birds voice as a rough tongue licked his face. He blinked, to see a pair of crimson eyes looking at him with concern. 

“Oh thank your dad! You’re still alive!” V circled around his head. “Wasn’t sure if Yamato would have allowed me to pick her up… but you could have least left me an eyeball to nom on! The only thing left of the guy was that stupid little monocle!” A metallic clatter rang out as he dropped a golden ring, warped by heat, all that was left of the monster. “I hate to say this, V...but you don’t look that good, in fact,” cocked his head, as if he was doing a doctor’s examination, “I haven’t seen you look this bad since we first met in the garbage dump.” V swore he heard his skin crack as he struggled to get up, not minding for once as Shadow assisted him. He needed to get to Yamato...needed to save his son. His own health and well-being was a secondary concern. Griffon handed him his cane, and fueled by a determination that pushed him past the pain, he pressed forward, towards the siren song of Yamato.

She stood there proudly, embedded in a platform, as demonic energy shrieked around it, like countless souls screaming in torment. And yet, the blade remained serene, almost unaware at the devastation she was causing. He approached cautiously, looking at his reflection on the blade. He could barely recognize himself, with his stringy white hair, and cracked skin that almost looked like it was flaking off. He knew now, his borrowed time was running out, a price to pay for using up all of Nightmare’s power. But if it was to save his son.... He would gladly give it up. 

He wrapped his hand around the hilt, and was immediately hit by the angry, hurt, buzz of Yamato, first at the fact that she’d been ripped from Nero, and then more violent when she realized who was holding her.  
“Yamato…” he grimaced through the pain, “I know nothing I say will ever atone for your abandonment, but I need, no beg for your help to save my son. Whatever rage you have, direct at me, but only after Nero is rescued. Please.”

“ _Holy Shit,”_ he hear griffon mutter to Shadow, _“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him beg before.”_

The buzzing went silent, and the sword remained still and inert, as if she was contemplating his plea. And with each second, the pain and exhaustion increased exponentially. His muscles screamed at him as he leaned more and more on the cane, and he swore the metal creaked at the pressure.

All of sudden, the air seemed to POP, as if an invisible rubber band had been cut, and Yamato gave out not a buzz...but more of an affirmative hum. She and Vergil seemed to be of one mind, and she allowed him to pull her out of the dias. Unfortunately, merely the effort of pulling the blade out was too much for him, and V collapsed in exhaustion, with Griffon’s panicked shrieking the last thing he heard.

_Not now, not while my son still needs me...._

He was vaguely aware of being carried by a pair of slim arms, the familiar faint scent of ocean breezes helping him become more alert. He opened his eyes and gasped at the golden haired figure that held him.

“Mother?” he asked weakly.

She smiled and increased her speed, her heels clicking on stone. Strange, he didn’t remember his mother wearing high heels, always preferring more practical footwear. But he didn’t mind, she was with him again.  
“I am sorry,” he murmured and she looked confusedly at him, “I wasn’t strong enough to protect you....”

“Don’t worry about it, it wasn’t your fault, you were just a child, she quickly assured him. At least she seemed happy, V was glad the afterlife was kind to her…

_Wait… the afterlife?_

_Was she coming to take him there?_

He weakly struggled in her arms. As much as he wanted to be by her side, there was something so much more important.

“I can’t go...not yet. My son still needs me…” he said with his much strength as he could muster. As if he could argue with the personification of the grim reaper! But still, he had to try.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to save him, V. But he needs you as well…” V’s eyes grew heavy and tired again as he drifted off to oblivion….

Strange, his own mother had called him V. Stranger yet, he didn’t even seem to mind...


	9. Two Lives for One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The price of reunification is steep, and often paid for by ones who you least expect.

The statue of the ‘Saviour’ crumbled down, destroying large chunks of old buildings, most of which had been Order Property. The Opera House was no more, as was nearly the entire Cathedral, and the Botanical Gardens were covered in dust, and the rapidly dissolving corpses of demons.

But to Nero, he didn’t care. The destruction, the chaos, the sounds of battle between the remnants of demons and Order soldiers that were still untainted by the upper echelons of the institution, were just banal background static to what really mattered: The warmth on, and  _ in  _ his chest. He rested his head on her soft hair, enjoying this moment of peace. The man who’d taken her, had done unspeakable things in the attempt to be a worthy successor to Sparda ( _ His Grandfather _ he still had to remind himself) was dead. And for once, in nearly half a year, Nero knew peace. 

“Nero…” Kyrie murmured into his chest, holding him just as tightly as he held her.

“It’s alright Kyrie...we’re alright.” She loosened slightly, her hands drifting from his back down his shoulder, before reaching the jagged, scales of his arm. Strange, it didn’t glow red, nor blue, but an oddly calming shade of amber.

“Kyrie,” he tried to explain, worried that it would frighten her. “There’s a lot I need to talk to you about, about who I am, of where I’m from, things I’ve found about myself, but I’ve still hidden to you, because I was afraid, no, terrified of what people would think of me, of what YOU would think of me. I’m not sure how much time it will take to make it up to you but I promis-”.

He didn’t get a chance to finish, because he was cut off by the intense feeling of a kiss. After a panicked moment, he accepted her gift, and held her tightly as he returned the gesture. 

It seemed like an eternity, but eventually they broke apart. She smiled sweetly at him, and her hand reached up to gently graze the necklace he had given her. 

“Remember what I said about this? That it was special because it came from you? That’s the same about everything about you. It doesn’t matter what you are, it’s WHO you are that matters to me. And who you are, Nero….is the man I love, the man who I will always love.”

This time, it was Nero who pulled her in a passionate kiss. The feeling was incredible, the weight of playing pretend all these months, melted off of him like ice in the sun.

The kiss was unfortunately interrupted by two things, an awkward cough, and a slow clap, its echo bouncing off the stone of the surrounding buildings. Nero tried to ignore both sounds, preferring to focus on the feel of her lips on his, her reassuring embrace, the feeling of oh so rare, but well deserved peace.

The coughing got more insistent, and the clapping got more obnoxious, to the point that both of them couldn’t even continue to pretend they were alone, and Nero regretfully broke the kiss, and glared at where the sounds were coming from.

Credo stood there, looking embarrassed and conflicted, most likely from watching his sister practically making out in public, but not wanting to break it up.

And the clapping? Of course, it would be that damn annoying uncle of his. (He was beginning to understand why he and his dad didn’t seem to get along.) An equally annoying grin on his face, but on closer inspection, Nero could see a flurry of emotions. Pride, relief, and for the briefest of seconds, fear. 

“Nice job, kiddo!” he said cheerfully, his grin turning into a smirk. Even then, there was something in his eyes that worried Nero, “Enjoy your first ‘dismantling a psycho cult’ job, it’s a one of a kind feeling.”

Nero was pissed at both of them. He just wanted a little alone time with Kyrie, to savour the victory, to enjoy the feeling of being loved and loving in return, not being hounded by a guy that only a little while ago, he was trying to beat the shit out of.

But unfortunately, the moment was lost, and as he surveyed the little group, he instantly realized something, or rather  _ someone _ , was missing.

“Where’s my dad?”

Both men’s reactions changed instantly. Credo wouldn’t look at him, preferring to be interested in a newly collapsed piece of marble, his hands clasped behind his back. And Dante? That infuriating grin he wore was wiped completely off his face, and his adam’s apple bobbed nervously up and down.

“Nero…” he began, instantly telling the young man that something was wrong. Dante hadn’t ever actually called him by his first name before, he seemed to be more of a nickname type of guy.

“Where. Is. My. Dad.” he spat out angrily, trying to shove the fear away. His dad was okay, he  _ had  _ to be okay. His father still owed him that talk.

The jarring sound of metal scraping on stone, followed by a familiar metallic  _ clip,  _ distracted all of them. Everyone swung their heads to see his father, head bowed, leaning heavily on his cane. Just his posture was enough to alert Nero that something was horribly wrong. His breathing was laboured, as if he had just ran a marathon, but he moved so slowly, as if he was being pulled along by strings. Most alarmingly of all, his hair, once glossy black like a raven’s wing, was the same silver white as his own. But it was stringy and limp, like he hadn’t washed it for months. Beside him was Shadow, supporting his other hand, and her ruby eyes shone with concern, as Griffon flew agitated circles above them.

His father stopped, several metres in front of Nero, went stock still for a few moments, and then with a slight tremble as the only warning, began to crumple to the ground.

“Dad!” Nero ran and covered the distance in time to catch his father, just inches before he would have impacted the hard cobblestone. Behind him, he could hear a horrified gasp from Kyrie, and now he saw what she did, his father’s pale face, even more so than usual, was cracked, like the covers of those old leather books he sometimes sent off for restoration. And if Nero looked closely, it almost looked like it was flaking off with just the slightest disturbance. His once piercing emerald green eyes, enough to stop a young Nero from sneaking a cookie before supper, seemed dull and lifeless as old jade. A small voice inside Nero’s head, clinical and emotionless remarked that he looked more dead than alive.

_ “Nero…” _ his father’s voice cracked, almost as much as his chapped lips. The cracks in his skin seemed to widen with just just the slightest movement.  _ “It is good to see you again.” _

“What happened?” Nero was freaking out. His dad had always been susceptible to illness, due to what he had once thought was a weak immune system, but nothing like this. Just a cold, a flu, or at the worst, a fainting spell.

“Remember how I told you that your old man needed us to stay alive?” Griffon landed beside him, his mandible beak clicking in agitation, “well, that demonic battery he’s been using to keep ticking got drained while we were fighting, to the point he’s basically functioning on ole fashioned, organic human energy. But his soul isn’t compatible with just humanity, so he’s basically a car on a hill that’s run out of gas, just coasting until the end.”    
“The end?” Nero wasn’t sure why he asked the question out loud. It was obvious what the bird was talking about.

“Mr. Giler,” Credo’s voice broke through. “You shouldn’t be here, I gave Lady Gloria express instructions to keep an eye on you when she brought you to us. You should have sav-”

His father’s chuckle seemed brittle, and Nero swore he could hear a cracking sound coming from the weak man’s chest. “Lady Gloria had more pressing duties when the neighborhood came under attack. Enough of a distraction that a crumbling husk of a man could slip away.” His dull eyes turned back to Nero, and gently smiled at him, “besides, I needed to make sure my brother did not mess up a very important task. And I needed to see my son’s face… one last time.”   
“ _ Goddammit! Don’t say that!” _ Nero hissed as he cradled the thin frame in his arms. Tears threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced them down. He couldn’t be blubbering like a baby in front of his father, especially when this whole thing-

“This is all my fault,” he said, trying to force his emotions to an acceptable target: Himself, “If I hadn't just ran off without you guys…”

“Shhh…” his dad weakly squeezed his arm. “Forget your past regrets, they will only serve to weigh you down. Besides,” his smile widened, and despite the ghastly state he was in, his eyes seemed to regain some of their sparkle, “You would deny a father the chance to do everything to save his son?”

“It’s not supposed to be this way!” Nero heaved out between laboured breaths. He only restrained himself from holding his father tightly in fear of hurting him, “I’m supposed to protect you now! I’m supposed to be strong enough to take care of my dad. Th-that’s why…” he couldn’t look at his father anymore, couldn’t force himself to see the way that his father seemed to crumble before his very eyes. He turned to Griffon. “Isn’t there a way to get him some more demonic power? To take it from one of those demons still flying around?”

“It doesn’t work that way, kid.” Griffon admitted, “it can’t be given under duress, it has to be freely given by choice. Sure, V could intimidate a demon into giving it to him, but you’re dad’s in no state to do that. And the power he’d need would have to be immense, one of these run of the mill scarecrows wouldn’t cut it. To replace that demonic battery, you’d need something along the lines of a Demon Lord, and they tend to be preeeeettty stingy when giving up their power.”

“JACKPOT!” Dante’s much too cheerful voice rang out, out of place in such a sombre atmosphere, “Remember when I mentioned the Order was using your body, or should I say, your  _ demonic _ body to make their creepy soldiers? What if…” he pulled out Rebellion, giving it a quick glance, before continuing. “Well, you said that Yamato split your demon and human halves apart, because that’s what she’s made for, separating. But when you stabbed me with Rebellion that one time, my weapon did something different… she..”

“Merged both your human and demonic halves together, forcing you to accept Father’s heritage.” his dad responded. Nero had no fucking idea what they were talking about, but the hopeful way they spoke raised his spirits. He’d do anything to save his dad.

“Exactly,” Dante continued. “We just need to get you to Nelo Angelo, and use Rebellion to fuse you back!” he looked back down at the blade and muttered, “hopefully I don’t have to stab you…”

His father must have heard him, “You would like to return the favour, all those years ago, wouldn’t you?” and the chuckle gave Nero the impression that his dad was amused, which was a good sign. It helped him to be hopeful as well.

“I stabbed you once on Mallet Island, that was enough for me.”

“That would not have counted, Dante.”

“Of course you would say that…”

“Guys!” Nero barked out, “if we got a plan to save dad, I  _ really  _ think we should get going. Like. Now. Fortuna Castle is kinda far away. And even with all the hellgates down, there’s gonna be demons that will slow us to crawl.

Credo stepped forward to help Nero get his father back on his own two feet. He was able to stand with his cane, but still needed to sling his arm around Nero’s shoulder to remain upright, a very bad sign. His dad was adamant about not relying on other people, even Griffon and Shadow.

“Captain Elesion” he said, with as much effort as he could. It seemed that just doing that took so much energy. “I trust you will keep the city safe until our return?”

Credo nodded and gave him a salute, albeit a wavering one. “I’ll hold it to you, sir… to return.”   
A soft fluttering kiss was placed on his cheek by Kyrie, almost startling him. “For Luck,” she whispered in his ear, and even in the urgent atmosphere, Nero couldn’t help but blush.

“Dontcha worry your pretty lil’ head about them, we’ll take good care of everybody, especially your loverboy,” Griffon snarked, earning a dirty look from Nero. And now it was Kyrie’s turn to blush as she tentatively scratched his head.

But unfortunately, the bird’s impromptu pampering session had to be cut short as the three men, and two demons started the trek to what all of them hoped was V’s salvation, leaving the brother and sister to help with the clean up.

*****

It was near the end of the ‘long ass bridge’ (as Griffon would so elegantly call it, “Seriously V, no offense to your dad, but architecture practicality didn’t seem to be his strong suit”) where his dad’s meager strength gave out. The entire journey to the castle had been increasingly difficult, as his father’s weight gradually grew on his shoulder. This was a bad sign, for his father, always proud and dignified, to literally lean on his son for support. It had gotten to the point Nero was almost certain he was just dragging his dad along, with the cane just being used to keep his other side up. 

But Nero didn’t say anything. He just focused on the destination ahead of them, his internal GPS montously counting down the distance,  _ three kilometers to Fortuna Castle, two kilometres, one… _ Besides, his father would have brushed aside any concerns as unimportant. He could almost hear his voice ‘ _ There will be time to converse later’.  _ And so, they’d trudged through the dense forest, with Griffon acting as scout, Shadow as bodyguard, and his uncle… well, he was the only one that spoke during their march, although it was usually to himself, and it was quiet and indiscernible. And the hope that they’d started out with seemed to be leached away with each step.

It was only the fact that his father’s hand began losing its grip on his shoulder that alerted Nero of what was happening, but the fact they were almost there, had blinded him to the reality of their situation.

So, this time, he wasn’t able to catch his father in time, and his body landed hard onto the smooth paved stones. His dad let out a quiet, but anguished whimper, no, that was a cry, at impact, which ripped Nero’s heart to shreds. His father had always been the strong stoic one, the one who had patched him when he came home with bumps and scrapes, (even if they were gone by the time he got home, the pain was still there.) He was the one who stood up for Nero when people in the town would whisper gossip about him, often with just a sharp glare. To see him so weak, in such pain, and being unable to do anything about it was horrific.

“Dante!” he screamed at his uncle, who was still walking, unaware of his brother’s collapse. But the moment he turned around and saw V sprawled out on the ground, he came running. Griffon, soaring high in the sky, swooped down and landed on the bridge railing, concern somehow evident on his avian face.

Nero didn’t even try to lift his father up, just rolled him over onto his back. He met no resistance, but his dad wasn’t even assisting him. For a terrifying moment, he was almost certain he was dead. He’d only seen his father so limp that one time he’d fainted. But to his relief, the man still lived, and was conscious, if only barely.

_ “I can’t…” _ he was barely able to rattle out, his dull eyes unfocussed, his lips so chapped, they looked like they’d been frostbitten.

“Dad..” Nero said, gently shaking his shoulder, trying to get his attention. Not now, not while they were so close! “You gotta get back up! You promised me that you’d tell me the truth. You can’t…” he took a deep breath, he needed to remain strong, but it was getting harder with each passing moment, watching his father literally disintegrate into ash in front of him. “ _ You can’t leave me.” _

“Kid…”, he felt a firm, but gentle hand on his shoulder. Dante was going to try to either play the reassuring, but fake ‘everything is going to be alright’ card, or the ‘you have to accept the situation’ card, neither of them acceptable to Nero.

“Don’t you dare patronize me,” he hissed. If he had to carry his dad like a newborn babe the rest of the way, he would.

“Nero...my son” V said weakly, and with immense effort he placed a hand on Nero’s cheek. Nero tried his best to not wince at the feel of cracked skin. “You are a strong...a strong young man, and I trust,” his father grimaced as what seemed to be a ripple of pain flowed through him, “I trust that you will be able to make your way in the world without me…”

“DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT!” he screamed back, before lowering his voice to a pleading whisper, “ We’re so close. Just hold on a little bit longer...please? ”

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, you sure you want to do this, Kitty? Remember, this is a ‘no take-backs’ type of deal, once we do this, no going back.” Nero was now aware of the two familiars in a private conversation, a few metres away. Shadow growled out something that sounded vaguely affirmative, and Griffon floated down to land beside V.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Well, remember I said how your dad needs demonic power, freely given, in order to survive? Well, we,” he spread out a wing towards the panther, that padded over, “came to a decision. Even both of us ain’t enough to act as a permanent power source, but we can give our demonic essence to him to tide him over, to give him a little bit more time, a little bit more strength, until he gets to that dumb ass you guys call Nelo.”

Something about the way he described it, their ‘essence’ concerned Nero. “When you say you’ll give him..”

“Yup, it’s a permanent thing, once our tickets are punched, it’ll be a one way trip. But,” he cocked his head in a sympathetic gesture. “If it’ll get our friend here another chance at life, I guess that’s a small price to pay.” He pretended to preen himself, to hide his muttering. “Hell, it’s a better end than I could have expected under ole’ Mundie.” He puffed up his feathers, “Besides, lil old me and Kitty got to experience a good two decades in the human world, that’s more than most Demon Lords ever get to dream about. My only regret is that I never got to snack on a human eyeball, I mean, what’s the point of coming here, if not for the cuisine?”

_ “No” _ rattled out his father, beginning to focus more intently,  _ “I forbid it.” _

Griffon cackled, “Well, guess what, Twiggy? As per the terms of the contract, you got no choice. Our souls are bound, we’re just making it much, MUCH more permanent. And besides,” his beak was only a few centimetres from his dad’s face, “You really want to give up now, and leave your kid an orphan? Where’s the V I used to know, the one that was going to try to rip open the gate of the Orphanage when you found the kid?” His father didn’t have an answer, or didn’t have the energy to argue.

“But...you guys?” Nero asked. The two of them had been his closest companions, as far back as he could remember. He’d ridden on Shadows' back countless times as a child, and Griffon was always there to sneak him a cookie from on top of the fridge. To lose them both was nearly as painful as losing his father.

“It's been fun! I used to think human grublings were annoying, loud, and smelly, but you were pretty cute...still loud and smelly, but cute. But I think it's time we finish this…” he hesitated, and for a moment Nero thought he was about to back out of this, (he wouldn’t blame them) “Just...promise me something? Don’t tell anybody we did this? Especially any other demons. My ego couldn’t handle it if I was known for doing something ‘selfless’ like this. When it boils down to it, we’re still demons, we’ve got reps to maintain.” 

Nero tried his best to fake a smile as he nodded, enough of a confirmation as Shadow’s growls, who nuzzled his face affectionately. 

“Alright, the pact is concluded! Make the most of it!” Griffon said with an inordinate amount of chirpiness, he soared up a few stories, hanging there for a few tense moments, before plunging down, straight into the centre of V’s chest disappearing with a feathered flash. At almost the same time, Shadow backed up, and with a pouncing leap, followed him, trailing by just a few seconds. His father jerked from the impact, and Nero worried that the sudden movement would break a bone. But then, after a minute, his dad slowly lifted himself up.

He wasn’t back to normal, not by a long shot. His hair was still pale and stringy, and his eyes were still dull, but they had regained a sparkle. And his skin, once marked by cracks, was smooth, if a bit rough. And by the way his dad moved, he’d regained some of his former strength.

_ “Those fools,” _ he rasped out, but his voice was a touch clearer. Nero decided he wasn’t going to waste time trying to convince the man that this was for the best. There would be time for mourning later.

With a quick and fluid motion, he placed his arms under his father, and ignoring his father’s undignified yelp, he began to carry him, bridal style. With a kick, he launched the cane towards his uncle, who caught it with a flourish.

“Alright, you heard Griffon, let’s not waste this gifted time. Dante, lead the way.” V didn’t protest, although Nero knew he wanted to, as his uncle nodded and quickly walked towards the castle’s entrance. He could have sworn the man said something like  _ “Looks like Trish wasn’t just a one-off when it came to switching sides…” _ almost under his breath. It didn’t sound like an insult, in fact it sounded like… pride. He’d ask about what he meant later.

Behind them, a few bluish black feathers, and a couple of ebony whiskers blew off into the wind.

*****

They’d reached the room, a cramped, dingy space, just off the side of the containment area that held Yamato. To think, that just a while ago, he’d been so close to a different version of his father, and had been totally unaware of it.

“And there he is…” Dante said, with faux cheerfulness. The man’s mask of levity was badly damaged by this point. “I always wondered why you- or rather he- was so tall. I thought maybe Mundus had done some Stretch Armstrong thing with you. But now it makes sense, demons can change shape and size more easily. It also would explain your garish fashion choices, I mean, you wearing that?” he pointed to sickly coloured metal armour with his sword, still thrumming with faint demonic energy.

His father wasn’t impressed. “If you are quite done with your banter and jokes, little brother, I have a request.”

“Okay, but I draw the line at eating olives.”

His father ignored Dante’s attempts to pretend to be cheerful, “Should the reunification be successful, but my demonic half takes over, I need you to…”

Dante’s cheerful mask shattered, and he stumbled and nearly dropped Rebellion. “No. Out of the question. I did it once, and it nearly killed me, Vergil. You can’t ask me to kill you again. I refuse.”

“You would rather have Nero do the deed then?” V shot back.

“No, I would rather you show your demon side who’s really in charge, and come back to us in one piece.” Dante riposted with confidence, before softening, “I know you’re trying to prepare for all possibilities, but I know you can pull this off...where’s that legendary stubbornness that nearly drove mom up the wall?”

V decided that responding to it was a waste of his limited energy, if his silence was any indication.

“So, how are we going to do this?” Nero asked, suddenly adrift and without a plan. He had been so focused on getting to this place, he hadn’t thought about what would come next. It still felt surreal that weapons like these had such power.

“Place me on top of Nelo,” his father weakly ordered, “I will take Rebellion, and I will try to replicate what I did with Dante, all those years ago, only this time, with myself.”

Numbly, Nero obeyed, and with as much care as possible, had his father straddle the chest of the comatose demon. It almost looked comical, his tiny father, and the giant hulk of armour, being both parts of the same man. In any other situation, Nero would be laughing hysterically.

“Be nice...” Dante seemed to order his sword as he cautiously handed the blade to his father, who to Nero’s great relief, was still able to lift it on his own.

But instead of plunging it into the chest, he paused, and turned to Nero. His eyes had lost their momentary sparkle, and the cracks on his face were returning, still thin as spiderwebs, but growing and spreading.

“Nero,” his father spoke with conviction, putting all of his remaining strength into each word, “If-When I return, I will be a different man. I will look different, possibly act differen. But know this.” his voice became clear, almost back to normal, “You are the most important thing in my life. And my love for you will never change.”

Nero wanted to say something, anything. A reply about how much he loved him back, an apology for making everything worse with his stubbornness, hell even a joke about how it would be nice to have a matching hair colour for once. But his throat closed up on him, and he couldn’t speak at all, all that he could do was nod numbly and try to smile. Strange, it seemed like his father knew what he wanted to say, just by looking at him, if that soft, if a bit pained smile meant anything.

After a few moments of silence, his dad took the blade, and shakily, lifted it up. There were a few agonized moments where it hung in the air, before his father took one more deep, rattling breath, plunged into the chest of the demon, the sound of buckling metal overpowering everything.

What followed was sudden silence, as if time stopped completely. Nothing seemed to move, not even the motes of dust in the air. 

And then…. A brilliant blue beam shot upwards, smashing through the ceiling, causing debris to shower down. But also, an irresistible force of energy exploded everywhere, knocking back machines, beds, flasks, and both Nero and his Uncle. He felt the breath knocked out of him as he hit the wall.

It took a few moments for him to push the dizziness of impact aside, and using his arm to shield himself from the bright light, he tried to make out what was happening. It was far too brilliant, but Nero could manage to make out something… a figure. Bigger than his father, but smaller than the demon beneath him. Another blast, knocked him back, and all Nero could hope for as he toppled into an undignified heap, was that his uncle’s plan worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, GOLD STAR to OhtaSuzuke for correctly predicting this chapter's main plot with concerning accuracy two chapters ago. You have no idea at how hard it was to maintain a straight face while responding to that comment.


	10. Reunification, And Repetition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Vergil from Devil May Cry™!

He floated there, in some sort of darkness, but unlike that time, two decades ago when he had been submerged in Nightmare, this didn’t feel suffocating. And yet… that same sense of urgency was pounded into his brain, he didn’t have much time. 

But what was he supposed to do? He had no idea on how this would work, or if it would EVEN work as last time Rebellion had been used to merge, and he had been on the ‘giving’ end of the blade. Except, as per usual, Dante had had it easy, as his soul was already in one piece, he’d just built a spiritual wall between his human and demonic sides, which Rebellion had easily torn down. He, on the other hand, had a physical barrier, one that would take much more effort, and possibly time to overcome. If this didn’t work, his physical body would most likely crumble into ash, right in front of his horrified son. He could picture Nero running over to him, to grab him, only to grasp nothing but dust. He’d leave his son an orphan, his only family a bumbling (if well-intentioned) uncle. No….he couldn’t have that.

So, he forced himself to remain calm, to remain mindful and centred, and waited for something, anything to happen.

He couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed, in fact, he couldn’t feel his feeble arms, his legs, the sensation of clothes on his body. If he let his mind stray, he realized he couldn’t feel anything, in any of senses, as if everything had been stripped away from him, a soul adrift on a current of pitch blackness. His sense of calmness was beginning to slip away from him. Perhaps if he used that last bit of demonic power he kept inside of him, he might be able to cause something to happen, but that would be used as a last resort.

**_SO, YOU THINK YOURSELF WORTHY? YOU CRUMBLING HUSK, YOU WRETCHED SCRAP OF HUMANITY, TOO WEAK TO EVEN STAND ON YOUR OWN? SUCH HUBRIS._ **

The voice boomed, but he didn’t hear it, didn’t even feel it, it was just there, almost as if it were his own thoughts. And even though he couldn’t see it as first, there was another presence near him, full of rage, pride, and pain, suddenly coalescing into a shape. He had expected it to take the form of Nelo Angelo, armoured and with the glowing red eyes, but instead he saw something he’d never seen before. It looked similar to his old trigger form, but this was far more primal and demonic. It didn’t look like it should be capable of speech, with all those teeth, as it approached menacingly.

**_LOOK AT YOU. RELIANT ON OTHERS FOR YOUR VERY SURVIVAL. AND NOW,_** its wings suddenly stretched out to their fullest extent, and for the briefest of moments, he swore he could feel the disturbance of air from that motion. **_WHEN YOU ARE AT THE GATES OF YOUR OWN OBLIVION, YOU COME CRAWLING TO ME. PATHETIC._**

Its arm shot out, and now he could sense the distinct feel of cold metallic claws around where his throat ought to be.

**_I SHOULD USE THAT BODY OF YOURS AS MY OWN, AND RAVAGE EVERYTHING. EVEN IF I DROWN THE WORLD IN BLOOD, IT WILL NEVER COME CLOSE TO WHAT I HAVE SUFFERED._ **

Ah, so it was as he feared, his demonic side was attempting to take over, with its strength and his weak humanity unable to stop it, the destruction it could cause would be catastrophic. He began feeling weaker as its grip got tighter and tighter, until he could feel each joint in the fingers, and swore he could hear his neck beginning to pop. He could do nothing to fight it, a battle that he had already lost...the demon was right, he was weak and powerless.

**_SUBMIT, AND I WILL SPARE YOUR WEAK ATTACHMENTS, THOSE THINGS YOU CLAIM TO CARE ABOUT_ ** **.** He could swear he felt hot rancid breath wash over him as its teeth were mere inches above his throat.  __ **_YOU ONLY DELAY THE INEVITABLE._ ** **_IF YOU KEEP DENYING ME MY BIRTHRIGHT, I WILL DESTROY ALL YOU LOVE, STARTING WITH THE THIEF, THE BOY. AND YOU WILL EXPERIENCE HIS DYING SCREAMS...._ **

_ Nero.... _ The thought of his son being put in danger was enough to keep up his resolve. He couldn’t allow the demon to win. But he couldn’t fight back, the creature was right, he was just a scrap of worthless flesh. The best he could do would be an eternal bulwark against the demonic force that threatened  _ his  _ world... _ his family.  _ As long as he did so, if he didn’t submit, they would be safe. His son would mourn for him, perhaps even blame himself, but the alternative was so much worse. Feeble as he was, he could remain strong and unyielding.

_ Wait.... _

He still had one card to play. Perhaps he couldn’t fight back in the physical sense, but there were other ways to make a demon submit.

“You call me weak,” his thoughts snarled back. Had he used his voice, it would have been cracked and strained from the claws strangling it. “But let me ask you a question. How long was it after Mundus,” the demon snarled and recoiled at the name, as if holy water had been splashed on it, “cut me out, the supposedly weak scrap of flesh, before you submitted to him? Days? Hours?” he grinned as he felt the pressure on his throat lessen slightly. “Mere minutes?” 

**_DO NOT SAY HIS NAME! OR I SHALL_ ** **…**

“Do what? You? A weak thing that immediately submitted to serfdom?” he continued mockingly. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t let the demon gain any more ground, and so he kept going, “A pathetic excuse for a demon that was defeated by my own little brother?” The demon let go of his throat, a good sign, “And while I lived and breathed in freedom, you found yourself chained to a bed, little more than a cadaver, to be studied and researched on. So…” he was obviously getting his point across, if the agitated tail swishing back and forth indicated anything. “Let me ask you again, who precisely is the weak one here? Are you truly willing to kill me, your only way to regain some freedom? I am fine with that. BUT I…” he barked out, and the beast flinched, actually flinched, “I will never submit to you, even if it costs me my life.” He didn’t want to die, didn’t want to leave his son alone, but if that was the way things were to play out, he was willing to pay the price. 

The demon snarled, a pathetic attempt to intimidate him, but it was painfully obvious that it was all for show. He was so close, but a demon made submissive by force would cause problems for him down the road, he needed to change from stick to carrot.

His voice softened, “if you submit, I can be a very kind master, much better than Mundus, much better than this dank cell you call home.” He wasn’t sure if it was because of him winning the battle, but his own form seemed to begin to solidify, and he was able to offer an outstretched hand to the creature. “All, I ask is your submission, and you to come back to me, back to where you belong, where BOTH of us belong. Separate, both you and I are weak...but  _ together....” _ the demon regarded his proffered hand, its face unreadable, “we are stronger than anything the world can throw at us. So...will you submit?” His voice betrayed a softness, a plea. This was the moment where everything could fall into place, like the last piece of the puzzle, or be swept away, scattered into the void, never to be reassembled again.

The demon turned its head, much like Griffon did, contemplating the offer. If Vergil could breathe, he wouldn’t have right now, everything was so tense.

And then... with one cautious step, then followed by a slightly more confident step, it approached, and slowly, but deliberately placed a scaly hand in his own. 

**_Very well…_** its voice said, not very pleased, but also not aggressive, **_I shall… submit._**

He quickly gripped the hand tightly, and with a fluid movement, pulled the demon closer to him, as if pulling him in for a hug. But instead of an embrace, the demon walked through him, and as if he was an empty bottle, began to fill him, making him feel full, solid, and...very heavy. So heavy, that the floating sensation vanished, and without warning…

_ He fell. _

The feeling was uncannily familiar, to the point he could feel the wetness of sulphur infused water soaking his clothes. His thoughts tumbled around as much as he did… he wasn’t sure where he was, or why he was falling all he knew that if he kept descending, only torment would wait for him at the bottom. He needed to stop…

Out of the darkness, he saw it, an outstretched hand, wearing worn fingerless gloves, reaching out towards him. Part of him, most likely his demonic side, growled that he didn’t need it, to push it away, but that part was no longer in control. He was. Taking a deep breath, he quickly grasped it, and instantly, it gripped on, strong and sure, pulling him not towards whoever it belonged to, but upwards, away from the darkness below. Strange, the black void that threatened to swallow him seemed less...voidish, and as if his head was wrapped in a blanket, he could make out the sound of a muffled voice, so familiar.

_ “Welcome back, brother” _   
  


Vergil blinked, once...twice... three times, his vision clearing up a bit more with each blink. In front of him, was his little brother, a huge grin on his face plastering over what his true emotions were. He still gripped his hand, but not too tightly, and Vergil resisted the urge to rip it away. He instead stared at the hand Dante held.  _ His hand. _ No longer bone thin, no longer riddled with cracks. Vergil took a deep breath, and even though the air was stale and recycled, it felt as fresh as a spring morning. He felt, for the first time in two decades, full, strong…. _ whole. _   
“Amazing, apparently having your demonic side merge does wonders for your skin,” his brother quipped, yanking him out of his moment of contemplation, “Guess that’s why I only get better looking with age.”

With that, Vergil annoyingly yanked his hand away. Of course his brother would go ahead and ruin the moment. Placing both hands on the metal bed, he tentatively began lifting himself off, and slowly swung his legs over the edge, testing his strength. He had expected, or was so used to being physically weak, that the fact he was able to easily move around made him feel like he had Superman levels of strength, and he had to mentally restrain himself from overcompensating the speed and strength of his movements. 

The room was much darker than before, illuminated by a single remaining light, flickering defiantly, despite the fate of its siblings, all shattered. In fact, the entire room was destroyed, as if it was Dante’s home. Flasks shattered, tables overturned, dust of plaster and stone still falling down, on himself, on his brother… and Vergil frantically looked around in the darkness before spotting the pair of unusually bright blue eyes staring at him at the edge of the light.

_ His son… _

Never breaking eye contact with the boy, he cautiously slid off the bed, and with careful steps, (it felt strange, and slightly uncomfortable to not have his cane at his side, it was almost a part of him as Yamato had been), he approached Nero, who to his credit, did not pull away. Vergil had to remind himself that his son had never seen his true form, he’d spent his son’s entire life as V, and that from the boy’s perspective, his father had just vanished, to be replaced by a complete stranger. He couldn’t blame him if he flinched, ran away, or even attacked him. But he did nothing, just stared with incredibly shiny eyes, as he approached. It was nerve wracking, and Vergil was unsure of what to do. Even though he deserved nothing more, he was terrified of being rejected. So, taking yet another deep breath, he took the final step, and let his soul decide, now whole, but different than before. Before, his demonic side would have yanked Yamato away from the boy, and walked off without a word (possibly impaling Dante with it first, for old time’s sake)

But now? With his humanity in control? He hesitated, stopped an arm’s length away from his son, then slowly, gently, reached up to his son’s cheek. Nero didn’t even flinch, just stared at him, his eyes glittering like a pair of stars reflected in a pond.

“Dad?” his voice cracked out, and Vergil felt a constricting tightness in his chest, making it hard to breathe. It must be his clothes, tailored to fit his formerly thin frame, struggling to contain his new, broader chest.

_ “Hello Nero,”  _ he spoke, his true voice spoke, unfamiliar to his ears after twenty years of disuse, and yet it felt warm and comforting. Wetness graced the tips of his outstretched hand, and after a moment of confusion, he realized it was from a tear, forging a path down his son’s cheek, followed by several others. Vergil was alarmed. Had he frightened his son? Was he in pain? Did he hurt him? No, Nero was smiling, and unlike his uncle, it was completely genuine. 

Nero’s voice lowered to a strained whisper. “ _ Dad...you’re back? You’re really here?” _

And without thinking, guided by instinct, he pulled his trembling son towards him, embracing him with all the love he had not been able to give him these past two decades.

_ “I am sorry I took so long, but I am here…. I am taking you home.” _

And with that, his son’s trembles broke into full on shaking, and the boy- no the young man began to sob into his father’s chest. Vergil didn’t mind the blooming wetness on his shirt, in fact it gave him something to focus on, to keep himself from sobbing as well. As human as he was now, he still had appearances to keep up, especially with Dante standing behind him, no doubt grinning like an idiot. Instead, he brushed his lips against his son’s forehead and pressed a fatherly kiss.

_ “I am here”  _ he repeated softly, _ “and I will never leave you again….” _

******

Only now, in the bright sunshine in the courtyard, with his brother on his left side, and his now mostly composed son on his right, did Vergil realize how rank the air had been in that room. He took deep breaths, enjoying the way that his lungs filled up without the tightness he had experienced (the shirt he wore was no doubt ripped from all the stretching, but his overcoat hid it well enough) He tried not to look too eager to try out his arms and legs, now no longer withered and weak.  _ After all, he didn’t know how long he’d have to experience it… _

“So… that was quite the adventure! When Lady said I should investigate this place, I didn’t think the payout would be worth it. I guess a guy like me can be wrong some of the time.”

“The job’s not done, Dante.” Vergil reminded him, “Remember, your little stunt caused this whole mess, and Fortuna still needs to be cleaned up of the remaining demons.”

His brother sighed “Oh God, you sound just like mom…” he dramatically slouched, “fine, I guess I’ll help.”

“Me too!” Nero’s face brightened up as he wiped his face, trying to destroy any evidence that he’d been blubbering like a baby less than an hour ago. “But that means we have to trek all the way back to the city. That will take a whole lot of time,” he paused as he cocked his head towards his right shoulder, as if listening to his scaly arm, “But Yamato is giving me the impression that you can use her to get us back faster...I don’t know what she means by that.” 

To say Vergil was surprised was an understatement. Even after allowing him to take her in the Opera House, he was under the assumption she had only done it to save Nero. But as his son rolled his shoulder, causing her to dematerialize, and softly offered it to him, he realized that she, one of his oldest companions, was willing to forgive him. The tightness in his chest reappeared, and he couldn’t even use the now ruined shirt as an excuse. Normally, he would have gratefully allowed her to accept him back, but there was one thing he needed to do yet, one final thread that needed to be stitched in to make himself truly whole.

“Not yet,” he said, waving his hand. He wasn’t sure how this would play out, but he would take no chances. “My cane please, Nero?” 

His son was confused, “Uh...I thought you didn’t need it anymore? But...okaaaay…” and perplexed, he handed over the cane, its metal finish shining almost as brilliantly as Yamato’s blade in the sunlight. Leaning on it as he once did, he took a deep breath, and out stretched his arm. Allowing three pounding heartbeats to pass, he closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers.

For the briefest of moments, nothing happened, and all that could be heard was the echo of the snap bouncing off the castle walls, and the tweeting of songbirds. But Vergil paid no attention to that, he was focused on containing the almost excruciating pain in his right leg, not as bad as before when he summoned Nightmare, but it took all his willpower to not double over.

And then the peace was shattered by the sound of a low rumble, and a very, VERY annoyed squawk, which followed by a stream, no a raging torrent of profanity.

“YOU SON OF A…! WE SPECIFICALLY GAVE YOU THE LAST OF OUR POWER WITH THE EXPRESS PURPOSE OF GIVING YOU ENOUGH ENERGY TO DRAG YOUR SKINNY ASS TO YOUR OWN BODY!” Griffon nearly dive bombed him like an enraged magpie, before hovering in front of him, his beak nearly touching his nose. “AND WHAT DO YOU DO WITH IT? YOU TAKE OUR GIFT, AND POCKET A LITTLE BIT OF IT AWAY, LIKE YOU DID WITH MISS ELESION’S COOKING! IF YOU HAD BEEN A COUPLE MINUTES SLOWER…” the bird looked like he wanted to rip out his guts, but all Vergil did was smile. “POOF, GONE, CRUMBLED INTO ASH LIKE THAT CHICK THAT LOOKED BEHIND HER! AND OUR SELFLESS SACRIFICE COMPLETELY WASTED!”

“She turned into a pillar of salt, not ash, Griffon” Vergil chided him, “And your welcome, by the way.”

The bird was still enraged, even as Shadow grabbed his tail feathers to keep him from doing something rash.

“Oh, that’s how you’re gonna play it? You’re going to make it like WE’RE in YOUR debt? Well, I hate to break it to you buddy, but we-”

“No debts,” Vergil said, adjusting his cane. The pain subsided, but there was slight weakness in that leg, no doubt permanent, but the price had been well worth it. Besides, he still felt much, much better than he had all these years. “It was my way of paying back my debt to you.”

Griffon stopped flapping in shock, and almost plummeted to the ground, had it not been the quick thinking of Shadow, who dove under him. “Wait...did you...just thank us?”

Vergil glared at Griffon, hoping that would work as a warning to drop it, “We must make haste, it is time to go back to the city-”

“You really did thank us!”

“The Order will be hard pressed, with their numbers decimated, to be able to handle the threat.”

“You’re trying to change the subject! You old softie!”

He gave up trying to glare the bird into silence, and instead turned to his son, his hand outstretched “Now, let us leave this place.”

Nero reverently placed the blade into his father’s hands, and with only a moment’s hesitation, to converse with her, to promise his loyalty to her once more, he unsheathed the blade. His reflection was pristine, he was back to himself, no...he was more than he once was. 

His hands, guided by Yamato, made two precise cuts into air, and the world split in front of them, earning a gasp/swear combination from Nero.

Dante, on the other hand, just grinned, and began to stride through it. “I hope I can at least score some free pizza out of this. Verg, you gotta tell me where the pizza joints are in this town!” And before Vergil could yell back at him, he had vanished through the portal.

“She- she can do that?” Nero stared at the black void that awaited them.

“She can do many things,” Vergil murmured with pride, “and with time, I can teach them all to you, so when the time comes-”

“That won’t be anytime soon, right dad?” His eyes, still a bit shiny, pleading an unspoken prayer to his father.

“No…” Vergil concurred, “Not soon. There is much I must make up to you for, before that time even thinks about coming, if ever.”

Nero shuffled awkwardly as he wiped the bridge of his nose, “You’re...you’re not going to tell Kyrie I was bawling like a baby, right? That’ll be just between you and me and Dante...right?”

Vergil allowed himself to smile, “You would deny a father the opportunity to embarrass his son, just once?”

Nero grumbled something under his breath.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t make out what you said,” he replied, his smile now just turning into a grin.

“OKAY, YOU CAN TELL KYRIE, BUT NOBODY ELSE, ESPECIALLY NOT CREDO!”, Nero yelled out in frustration. “I’ll just shrivel up from embarrassment if you did that.”

“You have my promise, Nero,” he swore, before pausing thoughtfully. “But your uncle is not bound by any such oath…”

His son swore, and unsheathing his weapon, he revved it up, causing Vergil to flinch. (Why his son insisted on having such a loud weapon, he would never understand).

“If that son of a…sorry dad,” he apologised sheepishly to Vergil, before continuing “If he says a goddamn thing to ANYBODY, I’ll… I’ll make sure he can’t eat pizza again.” And he rushed through the portal, leaving Vergil alone momentarily with his familiars,

“So…” Griffon settled on Vergil’s shoulder, his weight no longer a hindrance, as Shadow rubbed her head against his weakened leg. “Was it worth it?”

“For you, my friends?” Vergil admitted warmly, “Yes.”

Griffon flung one of his wings outward, “I was talking about this whole thing we’ve been doing for the past twenty years, but it’s nice to see we actually mean something to you. Who are you, and what have you done with our old pal? You know, the guy that would toss me into a garbage can everytime I cracked a joke?”   
“That… that was a different time, and he was a different man back then.” Vergil mused, staring into the blackness.

“Well, for what it's worth, I’m glad Kitty followed my idea to join up with you. It all worked out in the end.” Shadow growled menacingly, and halfheartedly tried to swipe at the bird, “Woah, I don’t know where you got that idea, that it was YOUR plan...we both know it was MINE! WOAH DOWN GIRL! BAD KITTY!” And with a terrified squawk he flew into the void, an enraged panther close behind him. 

Vergil took a deep breath, enjoying the momentary peace. He knew that he wouldn’t have long to savour it. He had an annoying younger brother, two rambunctious familiars, and a son who deserved more than he could ever possibly give him.

_ But, _ he mused with a smile on his face, as he entered the portal with a slight limp.  _ I suppose I will just have to learn to live with it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go! And just in time for DMC's 19th anniversary! It's been a wild and fun ride writing this, and I'm so glad you joined along for the ride. Again, many thanks to DrPepper280, for providing the important foundation for this story, and for @Berheliyo on Twitter for inspiring us both with her Infil!AU.


End file.
